


Instant Classics

by baeconandeggs, baekdae



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: BAE2017, M/M, Past physical trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeconandeggs/pseuds/baeconandeggs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/baekdae/pseuds/baekdae
Summary: Because, after all, everyone’s just a single note on their own, trying to figure out where they fit in the larger melody of life. Chanyeol's no exception.





	Instant Classics

**Author's Note:**

> author: anonymous  
> Prompt#: 606  
> Title: instant classics  
> Word Count: 25.9k  
> Side Pairing(s): friends!chenyeol, friends!baekchen  
> Rating: PG-13, for language  
> Warning(s):mentions of past exo members, past physical trauma, cursing  
> Disclaimer: The celebrities' names/images are merely borrowed and do not represent who the celebrities are in real life. No offense is intended towards them, their families or friends. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this fictional work. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: thank you so, so incredibly much to the mods of the exchange. you guys are the absolute sweetest—thank you for putting up with my procrastinating ways. secondly, all musical knowledge is from my limited piano lessons, let me know if anything is weird! lastly, to my betas, my faves, the greatest human beings: 1) ily and 2) what the fresh hell

There are a lot of things that Park Chanyeol wishes he’d done with his life. Basketball, for one—although, despite his height, he’d been cut from the freshman team. Maybe playing for a band, but after Kyungsoo had left behind singing in exchange for a law degree, that had been pretty much crushed.  
  
Being a part-time piano teacher for a tiny music school nestled in the corner of a bustling city isn’t exactly the dream, but it’s not the worst either. In any case, Chanyeol can’t complain. He’s not paid much, but the job gives him just enough extra cash to have something left over after rent.  
  
Honestly, he shouldn’t really complain, either: he likes the job. It’s a hundred times better than sitting in the office all day trying to undo his coworker’s mistakes, which is how he spends the other half of his time. Chanyeol gets to teach a few of the local kids how to press keys to make them sound nice, and sometimes, they actually learn. It’s always quite heart-warming to see a kid grow and improve. Black Pearl is a nice little place, in a nice little building, just the kind of studio that Chanyeol likes working in. It’s incredibly lowkey.  
  
Plus, his boss is great. Kim Junmyeon is the mellowest guy in the world, going on thirty but looking twenty-ish—once was a clarinet for a local band, before starting a music school two hundred miles away. He’s rumored to have a ton of cash somewhere, (according to Jongdae, “old money”), but if so, Chanyeol never gets that vibe from him.  
  
Once, they’d been at the staff dinner at a nice restaurant down the street, and the boss offered to pay for everyone’s drinks. Henry, a local teenager serving as a violin teacher for the summer, asked about the rumored wealth—instead of answering, Junmyeon cryptically said a few choice words to Chanyeol. “Money doesn’t really make a person,” Junmyeon told him, and then ordered another round of shots.  
  
As a teacher, Chanyeol’s never been late, and Junmyeon has likewise never shown any signs of disliking him. Chanyeol figures that they’re on good terms. He has a couple of favorite students, of course, but he’s never mean to the others, and has generally received positive reviews.  
  
Today, the clock reads around two-thirty when Chanyeol gets off his first job, and he’s thankful. Data entry management isn’t exactly riveting, and his coworkers are pretty useless. Normally, he’d drive over with Jongdae, who also worked part-time nearby. But today, Jongdae had already headed over to Black Pearl earlier in the day due to a sudden cancelation at work. So, since Chanyeol has the extra time, he makes a quick stop at his house, changing out of the stiff buttondown into a softer, black hoodie and switching from slacks to jeans.  
  
His phone buzzes, and Chanyeol looks down to see a notification pop up on his screen: it’s from Seulgi, and Chanyeol grins. The girl was one of his best students, hardworking and definitely talented.  
  
_class @ 3:30 like usual? :DDD,_ the text reads, and Chanyeol quickly swipes the notification open to respond. _ofc!! bring ur copy of the music!_ he texts. He gives a cursory glance at the other students scheduled for today, and then turns his phone off.  
  
Only to pull it out a second later when his phone buzzes again—it’s his coworker, Wu Yifan, a Chinese man that has no idea how to operate a computer despite working in data management for three years. Chanyeol had heard from the grapevine that Yifan had been a basketball player in college, but maybe that’s just a rumor spread because of his towering height. Not that Chanyeol’s short. Just, Yifan’s… tall.  
  
After exchanging at least thirty increasingly frustrating texts, Chanyeol slings his bag over his shoulder and gets in his car. The old truck isn’t exactly a beauty, but Chanyeol likes it plenty anyway. So far, it’s been four years, and the pick-up truck has proved to be pretty trusty. He revs the engine, turns on the radio, and then promptly turns it off again when his phone rings. Chanyeol groans when he sees Yifan’s name on the caller ID, but takes the call anyway.  
  
He spends the entire drive to Black Pearl Music Studio painstakingly explaining to Yifan how to reset the wifi settings on a computer that’s been in the system for as long as Chanyeol’s been alive.  
  
“You know, Yifan,” Chanyeol sighs as he pulls into the parking lot of Black Pearl, “you could ask literally anyone else. It’s not like you have to call me every time you have an issue.” The man on the other side jabbers on for another twenty seconds in grammatically-unsound Korean to Chanyeol, and then hangs up.  
  
Chanyeol lets out a breath, exasperated. However, he perks up as he climbs the stairs to his piano room, mood already lifting. Nothing can touch him now, this is his zone. Chanyeol’s relaxing already, the stresses of the day beginning to roll off of his shoulders. He’s ready to just go in and play some piano.  
  
So it’s a pretty unwelcome surprise when Chanyeol comes into his piano room to find someone else moving his books off of the shelf. He balks at the scene, mouth opening and closing.  
  
The person turns around, and Chanyeol’s breath catches in his throat. Well, fuck.  
  
There’s a moment of silence as the other man turns around, noticing Chanyeol as well. They kind of stare at each other for a second, Chanyeol blatantly gaping.  
  
And then, he realizes what the person’s doing, and his breath catches again, but for another reason.  
  
Chanyeol’s beloved _Classic Rock Hits_ is dangling from the other man’s fingers as if it disgusts him, and then he chucks the book carelessly into a cardboard box next to the piano. The man also takes it upon himself to break the silence.  
  
“Oh, hi. Are you the person usually in this room?” he shoots a judgemental stare at the book that he’s holding. His eyes are very pretty. The next words out of his mouth are not. “Are you also the owner of these trashy books?”  
  
Flabbergasted, and also quite offended, Chanyeol opens and closes his mouth again, trying to turn his bewilderment and umbrage into words. “No— Wait, yes, I am— Who the hell— What?” He finally says, settling on that one question. “What?”  
  
The man drops a second book into a cardboard box next to him with a flourish. He wipes a dainty hand on his trousers, and then extends his hand for a handshake. “I’m Byun Baekhyun,” he says nonchalantly. “So I’m assuming that’s a yes for both questions?”  
  
Chanyeol’s brain is whirling. Instead of taking the extended hand, he looks down and openly gapes at it, words failing him yet again as the man pulls another book from the shelf. His poor, _poor_ book. “Uh- Who the fuck do you think-” He stops, grimacing apologetically as the stranger’s eyes widen at Chanyeol’s language. “Sorry, I just-”  
  
“Don’t think too hard, I can hear the gears in your head smoking,” Baekhyun sneers, dropping his hand. At the same time, he dumps _Fifteen Songs for Your Soul_ into the box as well. A cross between a whimper and a sob makes its way out of Chanyeol’s throat as he watches another of his favorite books land with a painful _crunch._  
  
“H-Hey,” Chanyeol stammers, brain finally catching up, as book after book, his collection gets dumped into ugly boxes. His voice hardens as another book is picked up off the shelf. “What are you doing? These are my books, and this is my room.” He stalks forwards, fully intent on snatching _Beginning Bops for Blooming Pianists_ out of the intruder’s hands.  
  
“Sorry, but no,” Baekhyun retorts, and he drops _Beginning Bops_ in the box. “I don’t know if anyone told you, but this is my room now. It even says my name on the door, sweetheart.” He says the word _sweetheart_ the same way the most people say things like diarrhea and tax returns. Baekhyun’s lip even curls a little bit. It grates on Chanyeol’s nerves an impossible amount, and he grits his teeth, stepping out.  
  
The ugly wooden door is the same as before. Chanyeol’s about to gloat to the annoying man in his room, when a shining gold plate catches his eye. His heart nearly stops when he reads it— in clean black letters, the plaque spells out: _Byun Baekhyun, Piano Teacher._ Just yesterday it had been a dirty sign with _Park Chanyeol_ written on it in Sharpie.  
  
“W-What?” Chanyeol sputters.  
  
“Oh no, what’s wrong?” Baekhyun asks, pausing his attack on Chanyeol’s bookshelf. He rests his free hand on his hip, eyebrows raising in mock surprise. “Oh, _no_. Was I right?”  
  
This. Asshole. Chanyeol whirls around, completely ready to storm off to Junmyeon to complain. Yes, he’s aware that it’s probably not the most mature way to deal with his anger, but the rate that Chanyeol’s temper is increasing at is kind of terrifying to be honest—he can’t remember the last time he was mad at someone. However, after taking just one step down the hallway, Chanyeol discovers that Junmyeon’s… already here.  
  
“Why, Chanyeol! Just the man I was looking for,” Junmyeon says a little faster than necessary. “So, uh, I have something to talk to you about—”  
  
“Yes, he does,” Baekhyun choruses, and Chanyeol rolls his eyes skyward, hands curling into fists.  
  
“Ah, I see you’ve already met Baekhyun.” Junmyeon’s awkward smile tightens. “We… We should take this to my office. Come along, Chanyeol.”  
  
Angrily, Chanyeol shoots one last glare at Baekhyun’s smug face, and then follows Junmyeon down the hallway.  
  
  
  
  
Junmyeon’s office is a dingy little room, but it looks impressive because of his impeccable taste in furniture. Everyone has their particular talents, and it just so happened that Kim Junmyeon had been born with an eye for just the right shade of mahogany wood to match the blue carpet.  
  
Not that Chanyeol really appreciates it right now, as he takes a seat in a beautifully paired wooden chair across from Junmyeon. He’s still fuming, and the fact that Junmyeon had failed to make Baekhyun disappear hasn’t made anything better.  
  
“Okay, so what—” Chanyeol starts, but Junmyeon has already started as well.  
  
“I’m sorry, Chanyeol,” the older man says, taking his glasses off and nervously cleaning them with a yellow cloth. “I meant to tell you earlier, but…” Junmyeon trails off, waving his glasses in a vague gesture that tells Chanyeol exactly nothing. Somewhere during the moment of silence afterwards, something Chanyeol’s brain clicks.  
  
There’s a faint sting of betrayal as Chanyeol finally realizes what Junmyeon’s saying: Chanyeol is being fired. Quickly, he runs through everything that he’s done recently, looking for anything that would have been grounds for firing. He doesn’t come up with anything, but Junmyeon’s apologetic face isn’t changing.  
  
“Oh,” Chanyeol says, swallowing awkwardly. He stands up, wiping his hands on his pants. “Can you give me a minute to… move out?”  
  
A brief expression of panic crosses over Junmyeon’s face. “You’re not taking the offer?” he asks, hurriedly standing up as well. Chanyeol responds with a blank stare, and then Junmyeon flushes.  
  
“Ah, silly me, I forgot to make the offer.” Junmyeon sits back down and laces his fingers, a genuine smile curving on his lips. “Unfortunately, I cannot offer you a position as a piano teacher any longer—I’m very, very sorry, but there has been a emergent change. However,” Junmyeon pauses, and his smile gets impossibly wide, “... I would like to extend the offer for you to rejoin Black Pearl... as a drums teacher.”  
  
Chanyeol’s getting sick of not quite understanding the situation around him. “So,” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows and re-crossing his legs, “you’re firing me…”  
  
“...and then re-hiring you on the spot for drums,” Junmyeon finishes, almost proudly. “Exactly—wait, one second—ah, here we are.” The man pulls out a wrinkled packet of paper, and Chanyeol recognizes it as his original resume. Junmyeon lets out a small aha! of triumph as he finds a particular page, and points down at a small box filled with Chanyeol’s writing. “Park Chanyeol, right here. Listed for potential in… piano instruction _and_ drums instruction. Oh, and guitar instruction.”  
  
Chanyeol swallows, still a little confused. “So, uh, you’re replacing me for this random person you found?” he asks, trying his best to sound a little bitter. What he doesn’t say out loud is that the “random person” just so happened to be _awful_.  
  
Across the table, Junmyeon squirms a little at the uncomfortable question. “Listen, Chanyeol… Baekhyun is a special case. I’m not saying that you’re not as qualified as he is—don’t get me wrong, Chanyeol, you’re incredibly qualified, but Baekhyun…” He trails off, sheepish smile returning in full force. “Seriously, you’re a great teacher. I don’t want to lose you. What do you say, are you willing to take up the job as a drums teacher? The pay is the same, although you’ll have fewer students.”  
  
Chanyeol bites his lip, unsure of what to say. He doesn’t mind switching instruments, what worries him is switching students. Over the years, he’s built quite a good relationship with many of his piano students. Still, it’s better than being kicked out, he guesses. Also, what in the fresh hell, Junmyeon—a little warning would have been nice.  
  
“Okay, I’ll do it. But...” Chanyeol says, silently asking for an explanation with his eyes, but Junmyeon completely ignores him. “What about my students?”  
  
“Thank you, Chanyeol,” Junmyeon says. “We’ll send out an email to the parents, and I already have a few drum students lined up. Speaking of students, you should probably go talk with Baekhyun, give him the details about your lessons… He might need them.”  
  
Chanyeol nods, confused and kind of annoyed. “Will do.” He rises from the wooden chair, and turns to leave. As he passes through the doorframe of the office, however, Junmyeon calls out again.  
  
“Chanyeol, have patience with him. Baekhyun’s… been through a lot.”  
  
_Yeah right,_ Chanyeol thinks. All he’s been doing is acting like an asshole. Still, he nods stiffly at Junmyeon, and then starts the long walk back to the piano room that is no longer his.  
  
  
  
  
Byun Baekhyun is still there when Chanyeol returns to collect his books. The man watches him silently, and yet somehow Chanyeol has never felt more judged in his life. He gingerly rearranges the books in the cardboard box that Baekhyun had so generously provided, unfolding crushed pages and tenderly aligning them all the right way. The spine of _Classic Rock Hits_ is creased permanently, and Chanyeol grimaces as he tries, and fails, to fix it. He flips it open, gasping when he sees the giant rip through the first several pages.  
  
These books have been with him since forever. Seulgi’s played these songs. _Jongin’s_ played these songs. Hell, _Classic Rock Hits_ has been around since Chanyeol’s days with Kyungsoo. The book’s dear, okay? They’re all dear to him. And now they’re ruined, and probably won’t be used again. Chanyeol pauses for a moment to gently touch the cover of the book nearest to him. It’s a moment of closure… unfortunately, Baekhyun finds the perfect way to ruin it.  
  
“So… You plan on stroking those books for all eternity?” Baekhyun asks, breaking the silence with his sharp, annoying voice. “Because there’s someone else in this room. You can do that kind of stuff in private. Don’t make me watch it.” He sniffs, checking his watch. Somehow, that tiny action is what irks Chanyeol the most—Baekhyun somehow makes everything annoying. _He’s not worth it_ , Chanyeol thinks angrily, already failing to quell his rising temper.  
  
“The fuck, dude, I’m just making sure you didn’t destroy all of my books,” Chanyeol snaps back. He remembers his promise to Junmyeon a little too late, and reluctantly tries to change the topic. “Uh, Junmyeon mentioned that you need the student schedule for the week?”  
  
“Duh.”  
  
Inside his head, Chanyeol counts to three slowly. He takes a breath. Obviously, Baekhyun’s not going to let anything go, so it’s up to Chanyeol to be the bigger person. Figuratively, of course. Although now that Chanyeol stands up, he towers over Baekhyun by a good five or six inches, or maybe even more if he straightens his back. What a loser.  
  
But that’s not important right now. Right now, Chanyeol needs to take his precious piano lessons and delegate them to someone with the personal charm of a crushed slug. He finds a spare piece of music sheet paper and folds it in half, sitting down on the piano bench and resting the paper against the un-opened lid of the piano. Baekhyun’s left eye twitches.  
  
“Um, alright, so—wait, do you have a pencil I could borrow?” Chanyeol asks, suddenly realizing that he hadn’t brought any writing utensils.  
  
“Rule zero for any musician,” Baekhyun says, reaching into the back pocket of his tight jeans to somehow magically procure a sleek mechanical pencil, “always have a pencil on hand. You should know that.”  
  
“Right, right,” Chanyeol says through gritted teeth, reaching for the pencil. However, Baekhyun pulls it out of his reach at the last second, staring unnervingly at him.  
  
“Are your hands clean?” Baekhyun says, eyes narrowing. “Don’t get my pencil dirty.”  
  
Fucking hell. “My hands are clean, okay?” Chanyeol retorts. “Look, if you want the student schedule, just give me the damn pencil.”  
  
Baekhyun purses his lips, but hands the pencil over.  
  
“Okay, so, for today, my first lesson is at three-thirty: Kang Seulgi. One of my favorite students, she’s smart and has a ton of potential. Second is at five o’clock, Jisung. He’s very little. Third is…” Chanyeol rambles, scrawling down a long list of lessons throughout the week.  
  
“You’re popular,” Baekhyun muses, looking at the list.  
  
A little surge of pride rushes through Chanyeol, despite the acerbic tone. He does—did, now—have the greatest amount of students. It’s kind of bittersweet for him to explain the work habits and problem areas of each one to Baekhyun.  
  
“...Krystal doesn’t really have time to practice, but she’s a good student. Jisung’s barely six this year, so there’s a lot theory-wise that is a little too tough for him, although he’s incredibly smart for his age…” Chanyeol scribbles down a few notes for Baekhyun. He looks up to see the other man’s baleful stare, and can’t stop himself from mouthing off. “I know it’s incredibly difficult for you, but don’t be an ass to them.”  
  
Angrily, Baekhyun snatches the sheet of paper from him, flushing. “Fuck you too,” he eloquently responds. “Pencil.”  
  
Chanyeol gives it to him, rolling his eyes as he watches Baekhyun inspect it for grime. He stands up from the piano, drawing Baekhyun’s attention. They’re a lot closer than before, and Chanyeol notes with some delight that he’s not the only one who notices their height difference. Baekhyun looks up at him, and unconsciously backs up a step. When he notices Chanyeol staring back at him, however, his face immediately goes back into his perfected glare. _Psh,_ Chanyeol thinks.  
  
Baekhyun shifts his attention back to the paper, reading. A few awkward minutes pass, complete silence except for the sound of Yixing playing guitar two rooms over. Chanyeol clears his throat. “Uh, do I have to be—”  
  
“You’re still here?”  
  
“Nope, nope, I’m leaving right now,” Chanyeol hisses, picking up his box of boxes. He slams the door behind him as he goes.  
  
In his rush to get out of the hallway, he nearly runs over Seulgi in the hallway.  
  
“Hey, Chanyeol!” she chirps. She notices his disgruntled appearance and the box of books, and furrows her eyebrows. “You okay? Our lesson’s starting really soon, where are you going?”  
  
Chanyeol sighs. “Seulgi…” And then he really doesn’t know how to say it. “I’m… I’m not going to be teaching you piano anymore. I’m sorry.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Baekhyu— Mr. Byun, he’s the new teacher, he’s going to be taking over from now on,” Chanyeol explains patiently. “I’m sure you’ll like him, he’s… great.” _Lying is bad_ , Chanyeol thinks, but it’s for a greater good, right?  
  
“Are you leaving Black Pearl?”  
  
“No, I’m just switching instruments,” Chanyeol says, smiling apologetically. “You’re going to do fantastic with the new teacher, I bet. He’s a really talented pianist.” Hopefully.  
  
“But—”  
  
“S, you’re going to miss your lesson! Plus, this box is getting heavy, and even my incredible strength can’t carry it forever,” Chanyeol jokes, trying to lighten the mood a little.  
  
Seulgi frowns. “Chanyeol—”  
  
“Just go, Seulgi!”  
  
She does, eyes wide and confused as she walks into the practice room. Chanyeol watches her go, heart twinging a little. Only a few seconds later, however, Chanyeol’s arms begin shaking with the weight of the box, and he takes it as his cue to start heading downstairs.  
  
After setting the box in the passenger side of his truck, Chanyeol sits for a while, staring up at Black Pearl Studio and feeling kind of empty inside. He probably should go back to the office, then, and get a little bit more work done.  
  
The entire drive there, Chanyeol feels more and more drained. He can’t even muster up the energy to be mad at Baekhyun anymore. Just kidding, he totally can.  
  
“What a pompous idiot,” Chanyeol hisses to himself, and it almost makes him feel better. Almost.  
  
  
  
  
The number of students he teaches has dropped significantly. When he had been teaching piano, there would be anywhere from four to five students on the weekdays, and several more on the weekends. Now, it’s down four or five in total. Chanyeol doesn’t even have to come in on Wednesdays because there’s no students anymore, making it impossible for him to run into Seulgi. It’s weird sitting at work on Wednesday afternoons, typing in rows of numbers instead of driving with Jongdae to Black Pearl.  
  
But every other day, driving with Jongdae is pretty much the same.  
  
“Jongdae, pick up,” Chanyeol grumbles, pressing the phone to his ear. He’s been waiting for the vocalist in his truck for almost ten minutes now, staring out the window at the restaurant where he knows Jongdae has a gig. According to the clock, it’s 2:56 in the afternoon. Jongdae’s shift should have ended sixteen minutes ago. “Where are you?” he says into the unanswered phone. The only response is another repetition of the _connecting…_ sound.  
  
However, just seconds later, Kim Jongdae breezes out of the building in all of his glory, hair mussed and makeup a little smeared. He spots Chanyeol’s car and—disgustingly—makes a heart with his hands. Chanyeol rolls his eyes, canceling the call and unlocking the side door of the truck.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Jongdae says, landing heavily into the passenger seat. He sounds winded, but not very sorry.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, save it,” Chanyeol responds, but he’s smiling as he pulls out of the parking lot. “We’re going to be late.”  
  
“Please,” Jongdae snorts, dragging the word into two syllables. “My first lesson starts at four, and yours starts at four-thirty.” He rips open a makeup wipe bag, and uses the mirror in the sun visor to clean his face off.  
  
“Actually,” Chanyeol says, biting the inside of his cheek, “my first lesson is at three-thirty today.”  
  
Jongdae stops, eyeliner halfway smudged off of his eyes. “Oh, shit, I forgot. Drum students, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.” Chanyeol clears his throat, awkward, unused to not having anything to say around Jongdae.  
  
“You meet the new piano teacher yet? He’s pretty hot, eh?” Jongdae asks, not noticing Chanyeol’s sudden silence. He’s gone back to removing his makeup, flinching and cursing under his breath when he pokes himself in the eye with the corner of the wipe. “God fucking dammit, I’m never doing this again…”  
  
“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, glaring hard at the traffic light in front of the truck. “He’s a bitch.”  
  
“Whoa,” Jongdae laughs. “I know he took your job, and you’ve got every right to be mad at Junmyeon for that, but what’d Baek ever do to you?”  
  
Chanyeol furrows his eyebrows at the nickname. “Baek?” he asks, feeling strangely betrayed. “You guys know each other?” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jongdae still.  
  
“Ran into him in the break room recently. We both had a free block, so we talked.” Jongdae finishes up, crumpling up the dirty wipe and sighing in relief, finally free. “He’s cool. Actually, he’s awesome. He told me this insane story about how once he and his brother accidentally set their homework on fire because they thought that ironing it would solve the math problems for them.” Jongdae chuckles a little.  
  
“He’s an asshole,” Chanyeol gripes. “I swear to god, I’ve never met someone so… _snobby._ He acts like he fucking owns the place, and he’s been there for less than two weeks.”  
  
“That’s an opinion,” Jongdae argues, then shakes his head. “Jesus, what did Baekhyun do?”  
  
“Besides taking my job, you mean?”  
  
Jongdae winces. “Besides that.”  
  
“Well,” Chanyeol starts, grip tightening on the steering wheel. “He’s condescending, called my books trashy, and then destroyed my copy of _Classic Rock Hits._ You know how old that book is?”  
  
“Whoa. Seriously?” Jongdae whistles. “Damn. I thought you two would have gotten along well. Guess not. Sorry for your book, that’s the one Kyungsoo gave you, right?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
There’s an awkward moment between them. Chanyeol coughs. “So, how was work today?”  
  
It’s like he’d flipped a switch or something. Jongdae nearly leaps out of his seat, wanting to tell his story so badly. “Okay, so, during lunchtime rush hour the managers decided that we needed more excitement, so they set up a segment where people could request any song they wanted for me to sing.” Jongdae takes a deep breath. “Which turned out to be an absolutely fucking _horrible_ idea, because, first off: I didn’t know all the songs, and when I told a customer that, they’d get pissy. Second off: there was a couple getting engaged there, so the groom asked me to sing _Count On Me_ by Bruno Mars. Cliche as hell.”  
  
“What’s so bad about that?” Chanyeol frowns. “Are you being a cynic?”  
  
“Nothing’s wrong with that! It’s cheesy, but it’s still a pretty decent song. No, the bad part was when this random girl started crying when I started singing. And not _oh-look-a-wedding_ crying, but like… full-out sobbing. Like remember that time you watched La La Land and bawled for like an hour?”  
  
“Uh... sadly, yes.”  
  
“Think of that, but twenty times worse. Turns out,” Jongdae voice turns almost wondrous. His eyes are probably super wide, but Chanyeol has to focus on making a sharp left turn. “...her—that crying girl, her fiance proposed to her with _Count On Me_ , but then later ran off with another woman. And it was recently, too. So when I started to sing it… she had an emotional breakdown.”  
  
“Yikes.”  
  
“Yeah, you can say that again. Security had to escort her out, poor thing. Anyway, that’s all that was really interesting. How was your day?”  
  
Data entry management at EXO is dull, and Jongdae knows it. Although today had been slightly different—Kim Minseok, his supervisor, had approached him with an offer for a full-time job.  
  
“We’ve been busy recently. And I’ve been looking at a full-time job there,” Chanyeol sighs. “The pay’s really good, and the offer’s actually pretty enticing.”  
  
“But… you’re not going to apply, right?” Jongdae sounds hesitant.  
  
“Don’t worry, you can’t get rid of me that easily,” Chanyeol teases, laughing when Jongdae whacks him. “Hey, I’m driving!”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, great.”  
  
“Although I am now going to be working full-time on Wednesdays.” Chanyeol sobers up a little, holding his breath as he waits for Jongdae’s reaction.  
  
But he doesn’t say anything for awhile, long enough so that Chanyeol has to look to make sure that Jongdae had actually heard him. The vocalist’s face is in a concerned expression, but he doesn’t say anything else. The truck pulls up to Black Pearl studio in relative silence.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Jongdae finally says. He cracks a grin at Chanyeol. “I trust you not to go anywhere.”  
  
He leaps out of the truck, running a hand through his messy black hair because he knows it makes him look hot—probably also because Jongdae knows that it always incites a grossed-out reaction from Chanyeol. But Chanyeol’s lost in thought.  
  
Full time work at EXO sounds like a nightmare, but in reality, Chanyeol’s not too against it. It would make his life easier a lot, and it’s not like he has a lot of commitments at Black Pearl, either. Life with his coworkers would suck, but the pay would make it worth it… right? A knock on the driver’s side window startles him out of his thoughts.  
  
Jongdae mouths something, and Chanyeol rolls his eyes, but he opens the door anyway.  
  
“-to Chanyeol? Earth to Chanyeol?”  
  
“I’m coming, I’m coming. Jesus Christ, Jongdae.”  
  
  
  
  
Although Chanyeol doesn’t have many students, on Thursdays he has Sehun. And Sehun means that life is going to be a struggle. Chanyeol isn’t exactly delighted to teach drums in the first place, but Sehun makes it ten times harder.  
  
The surly teenage boy has never studied music before—or at least, Chanyeol doesn’t think so. No, no, he’s positive Sehun has never studied music before. Or at least, if he has, it wasn’t by choice.  
  
The first lesson he’d ever taken with Chanyeol had been a trainwreck from start to finish. Chanyeol doesn’t think the boy had hit a single correct beat throughout the entire hour. After a few weeks, however, he’s improved a little bit. Emphasis on little.  
  
“Okay, Sehun,” Chanyeol sighs, grabbing his own set of drumsticks. “Lots of good things, but you have to make sure you practice all of the rhythm sets, okay? Remember that triplets are three to one beat, so in measure seven, it goes ba-da, ba-da, ba-da-da.” He plays a quick demo on Sehun’s hi-hat. Subtly, he checks the clock in the corner of the room—just ten more minutes.  
  
Sehun stares blankly. “Okay,” he says, monotone. He picks up his drumsticks. “From which measure?”  
  
“Uh…Why don’t we start at the top.”  
  
With less passion than a sardine cracker, Sehun starts playing again. He gets through the triplets, much to Chanyeol’s delight, but two measures later, his foot slips off the kick drum pedal. It hits half a beat too late, and then the entire thing completely falls apart.  
  
“Stop, stop,” Chanyeol says, waving his hands, and then he bites his lip. Sehun’s been making errors throughout his entire three-week career, but they’ve been scattered mistakes that don’t show any correlation. It’s never the same place, and Chanyeol can’t find any area that Sehun’s particularly struggling with, and yet. He’s just not focusing. “Is there something bothering you?”  
  
Sehun shrugs, but doesn’t say anything.  
  
“...Do you like drumming?”  
  
The teenager shrugs again.  
  
Chanyeol pauses. Alright, he needs to change tactics. “Is there anything that you really enjoy doing? Anything, like painting or singing or writing or something.”  
  
There’s a moment of pause as Sehun thinks—or Chanyeol hopes he’s thinking, at least.  
  
“Dancing.” It’s a short, one-word answer, but it gives Chanyeol at least something to work off of.  
  
“Hey, that’s cool,” Chanyeol says awkwardly. “Did you know that one of my former students was a dancer?”  
  
It’s kind of strange to call Jongin a former student. Much too much of an oversimplification—Jongin was one of Chanyeol’s first students, even before Black Pearl Studio, only younger than him by a few years. They’d been pretty close friends, but after Jongin headed off to college, they’d lost touch. It’s kind of sad.  
  
“Mm.” Sehun’s response is as lame as they come.  
  
“Yeah, Jongin was a brilliant dancer—”  
  
At the mention of something, Sehun’s head suddenly shoots up, suspiciously staring at Chanyeol. “Jongin never played drums.”  
  
A little flustered, Chanyeol backtracks. “Ah, no, I taught him piano. At the time, I was a piano teacher. Wait.” He squints at Sehun. “You know Jongin?”  
  
The high schooler nods. “He used to go to my dance studio. We’re still good friends. He comes back. Sometimes. He’s a journalist now, like he always wanted to be. Doing some exposé on the arts.” It’s the most that Chanyeol has ever heard Sehun speak. Even though the sentences are choppy and sometimes end in random places, it’s kind of nice.  
  
“Ah, you’re friends with Jongin? Tell him I say hi sometime!” Chanyeol beams.  
  
Sehun nods stiffly, again. “Okay. I-uh, I have to get going. I have to go over to a friend’s house. For a project.”  
  
A glance at the clock tells Chanyeol that it’s been three minutes past the end of Sehun’s lesson.  
  
“Of course,” he says. “Keep practicing!”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Chanyeol starts cleaning up too. God, even the kid’s footsteps are monotone as he walks down the hallway.  
  
  
  
  
At Black Pearl Music Studio, there are two floors in total, but the studio isn’t large. Floor one is the street-level entrance, which includes a receptionist desk, and three chairs. It’s also where the vocalists go, with four separate rooms—two for lessons, two for practicing—down a branching hallway off of the main foyer. Floor two is the instrumental section: three practice rooms, one with drums and two with pianos, and three lesson rooms. Guitar, violin, piano. Also Junmyeon’s office, but Chanyeol rarely goes in there if he can help it.  
  
Chanyeol has to hold drum classes in a practice room, because it’s the only set of drums that Black Pearl owns. Kind of sucks, really. The acoustics aren’t that great.  
  
Chanyeol can’t help but feel a twinge of bitterness when he sees it as he climbs to the top of the staircase, tired from a long day at work. The first room on the left is a piano practice room—seeing it is kind of salt in the wound.  
  
But that bitterness is wiped away almost immediately when he hears someone playing.  
  
Chanyeol stops cold as he listens to some random classical piece—it doesn’t matter what piece, it’s the _performer_. He can’t pick out individual notes, instead, there’s a wave of beautiful, melting sound washing over him.  
  
Quickly, Chanyeol tries to figure out who it could be… Three fifteen-ish in the afternoon, whose lesson is it nearing? Who’d be practicing there?  
  
He stands there for a few more seconds, just basking in the enchanting music coming out of the practice room. Chanyeol knows for a fact that the piano in there is absolute trash, but he can’t even recognize the instrument at all.  
  
The song turns melancholy, sad, and kind of desperate, the notes _cantabile_ —that’s the only musical term that Chanyeol actually knows. Back in high school, during the one music theory class he paid attention in, he’d written it down in his notebook. Kyungsoo’d circled it, too.  
  
_Cantabile_ —singing; songlike. It’d always seemed like a weird comparison to Chanyeol. Pianos made piano noises, and singers made… singing noises. Two different sounds, two different kinds of feelings.  
  
But as Chanyeol listens to the heartbroken melody lines, it kind of makes sense to him now. Despite the left pedal barely working and at least a few sticky keys near the higher side, the piano is singing, and it’s… stunning.  
  
He takes a few steps up the staircase, feet almost dragging themselves towards the piano room of their own free will. Much to his disappointment, the player inside stops playing. The door jerks open. Chanyeol almost passes out from shock.  
  
“Oh, it’s you. I thought I heard footsteps.” Baekhyun’s words are abrasive as always, but his tone doesn’t match. For a split second, Chanyeol swears he can see the same kind of _haunted_ in Baekhyun’s eyes as what he’d heard him play just a moment ago. But it’s gone in a flash, and Chanyeol is left feeling like he’d seen a ghost.  
  
Those two people can’t be the same. Byun Baekhyun, asshole extraordinaire and man with an uncanny ability to get on Chanyeol’s nerves, can’t be the same man who is standing before him right now, looking like some kind of mad genius. And playing like one, too.  
  
The pianist’s hair is messed up, as if he’d been running his hands through it endlessly. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his neck, and his expression is a little darker than usual. Chanyeol can almost still hear the piano playing.  
  
Words won’t come out properly in the right order. Chanyeol’s throat is dry and his palms are sweating for no reason.  
  
“You play beautifully,” is all that comes out, and then Chanyeol is running away to his own classroom. He doesn’t meet Baekhyun’s eyes as he brushes past him—he doesn’t think he can if he tries, anyway.  
  
  
  
  
He’s just about done packing up, about to head out. It’s been a long day of dealing with Yifan.. and others. Chanyeol’s more than ready to get home.  
  
“Chanyeol, I have an offer to make,” Kim Minseok says, setting down his coffee mug in the corner of Chanyeol’s cubicle.  
  
Surprised, Chanyeol looks up at his boss. The data management supervisor isn’t a man of many words, and during most days of work at EXO, Chanyeol never sees him. “Yes?” he asks tentatively.  
  
“So, uh, do you like work here?” Minseok begins awkwardly. He picks his coffee up, taking a rather nervous sip.  
  
_Uh, no, it actually fucking sucks,_ Chanyeol’s mean internal monologue uselessly supplies. But life’s full of sacrifices, so Chanyeol plasters on a grin and says yes anyway.  
  
“Yeah, it’s great. How come?”  
  
“Well- uh, we have a deadline in December that we need to make, and I was wondering if you would be up for a full-time thing here. Of course, change isn’t immediate and I know you need to work it out with your part-time job, but…”  
  
It’s like someone’s just given him the worst birthday present of his life. He shouldn’t have ever mentioned potentially working full-days at EXO to Jongdae—if Chanyeol hadn’t said it, it probably wouldn’t have come true.  
  
Does Chanyeol want to voluntarily sign up for _extra_ hours at EXO? No, not really. There are many other things he’d rather do, like… oh, he doesn’t know, stab a pen into his esophagus? But does he want to stay at Black Pearl and teach drums to teenaged robots? No.  
  
The decision is a lose-lose one. Either way, Chanyeol suffers and hates generally everything. So he puts it off, like everything else he doesn’t want to deal with.  
  
“Uh, thank you for the offer,” he says politely, bowing slightly to Minseok. “Could you give me a little while to think it over? I’m going to have to work out a lot of things.”  
  
“Oh, no problem, it wasn’t an immediate change either. Just give it some time.” Minseok smiles. “Go home, Chanyeol, you’ve had a long day.”  
  
Nodding once more, Chanyeol excuses himself.  
  
  
  
  
On the drive home one day, his phone rings, and because he’s a bad person, Chanyeol fumbles for it.  
  
“Hello?” he asks, completely ignoring the honk that comes from the car behind him when he slows down a little too much.  
  
“Hey, Chanyeol.” It’s Seulgi, but she doesn’t sound too great. Not as bright as usual. Nor as happy.  
  
“Hey, S, what’s up?”  
  
“I- I need some advice about piano,” From the other end, there’s a faint hiccup.  
  
“S,” Chanyeol calls worriedly, eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay?”  
  
She gives another tiny sniff. “I had- I had a lesson today, and Mr. Byun, he… he was really angry, he was circling everything and yelling and I didn’t understand what I didn’t know? There was this one passage I couldn’t play, and he kept making me play it over and over again, and I just… I can’t play it, Chanyeol! I just can’t! He was yelling and I was so terrified,” Seulgi bursts into tears, and Chanyeol’s heart feels like it’s being torn into two.  
  
“Seulgi, don’t worry,” Chanyeol tries to say comfortingly. “I promise I’ll talk to him. We can work something out, okay? Seulgi, listen to me. We can find out what you need to work on, we can talk to him to see what he wants.”  
  
“O- okay,” Seulgi whimpers.  
  
“I’m going to hang up, okay? If you need to talk later, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?” Chanyeol waits patiently until Seulgi whispers out a quiet _okay_. “Alright, S, don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.”  
  
He hangs up, anger simmering under his skin. Chanyeol turns left instead of right on the major road before the street his apartment is on, heading back for Black Pearl. Fucking hell.  
  
His vision is tinged with red, he’s so goddamn angry—the drive gives Chanyeol time to think. The more he thinks, the angrier he is. Seulgi’s not a crier. Seulgi’s not a whiner. If Baekhyun’d made Seulgi cry, what about the rest of the students? What about six-year-old Jisung? What the fuck. Being an asshole to Chanyeol is not ideal, but it’s fine. Being an asshole to Chanyeol’s students is not.  
  
Chanyeol turns the corner of the hallway, mentally rehearsing the best string of swears to let loose, but Baekhyun’s entire existence seems to be specifically designed to completely ruin any of Chanyeol’s plans. He crashes headlong into Baekhyun. Being shorter, Baekhyun runs straight into the other man’s chest, and falls backwards, both hands flying up to his face. Normally, Baekhyun’s pain due to his lack of height is Chanyeol’s greatest delight, but before he can start laughing, the sight of blood dripping down Baekhyun’s crisp white shirt stops him cold. His anger vanishes, and panic sets in instead.  
  
“What the fuck, Park?” Baekhyun snaps, but the hands over his nose make his voice comes out nasal and high-pitched. Again, Chanyeol feels the temptation to laugh again, but then the better half of him realizes that holy crap, he just gave Baekhyun a bloody nose. Oh god, what if it’s broken? Baekhyun doesn’t even do anything, instead just staring at Chanyeol in annoyance as another drop of blood falls on his white collar.  
  
“Oh shit, shit, _shit,_ ” Chanyeol mutters, frantically looking around for anything at all to stop the bleeding. The men’s bathroom is only a couple of feet down the hallway, and he pushes Baekhyun towards it. Baekhyun staggers at first, but then moves quickly without complaint.  
  
Chanyeol unrolls nearly half of the nearest roll of toilet paper, shoving it at Baekhyun. “Oh my god,” he repeats. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry, is your nose okay, do you want me to drive you to a doctor? I’m so...” Words fail him as he realizes that Baekhyun is laughing.  
  
Baekhyun uses one hand to hold the wad of toilet paper against his bleeding nose, while the other waves dismissively in the air. “My goodness, you do care.” Chanyeol can’t see his smile, but no doubt underneath all of the toilet paper Baekhyun is grinning.  
  
It’s a moment of uncomfortable silence as Chanyeol tries to come up with a reasonable response. “Well y-yeah,” he finally stammers out. “I might have just broken your nose, of course I feel bad.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” the pianist says, eyes crinkling up in mirth. “My nose isn’t broken. I did run into you at full speed and it fucking hurt, but my nose is bleeding because it was way too dry in my practice room. Junmyeon turned the heat up full blast… This is my third nosebleed of the day.”  
  
“Oh.” Chanyeol’s heartbeat slows down to a normal pace and relief floods through him. However, the second after, he remembers why he’d come in the first place. His voice hardens. “Okay, I need to talk to you about a thing.”  
  
Baekhyun looks up, eyebrows raising. “What, how you’re going to have to buy me a new button-down?” He gestures at his stained shirt, staring Chanyeol dead in the eyes without any shame.  
  
“No, you shitstain,” Chanyeol hisses, anger coming back in full force. “I need to talk to you about how to be a teacher.”  
  
It’s not like Baekhyun looks shocked, but if Baekhyun could be shocked, Chanyeol figures that this face would be pretty close to it. His eyebrows haven’t really moved, but they’ve shifted from mild inoffensive confusion to affronted confusion. The smile from earlier has completely vanished.  
  
“Uh, I don’t think you’re qualified-” Baekhyun starts, voice taking on an edge, but Chanyeol cuts him off.  
  
“I know. You play piano twenty million times better than I ever will—oh, wipe that stupid smirk off your face, I’m not done—,” Chanyeol spits, jabbing an accusatory finger at Baekhyun, “but you have _no fucking idea_ how to be a decent human. You don’t yell at kids like that.”  
  
Unimpressed, Baekhyun dabs at the last few spots of blood, craning his neck to look in the mirror. “Is this about Seulgi?” he asks nonchalantly, and Chanyeol kind of wants to punch him in the face.  
  
“Wow, how’d you guess?” he snaps. “You made a fucking sixteen-year-old girl cry. You proud of yourself?”  
  
Baekhyun stops, lowering his hand and slowly turning to face Chanyeol. “She cried?” he asks. If Chanyeol really tries, he thinks he can almost hear guilt. But then again, it’s Baekhyun. He probably kicks puppies in his free time or something.  
  
“Yes, she fucking cried. She called me after class and bawled her eyes out, you _asshole_.”  
  
Baekhyun bites his lip. “She hadn’t prepared enough,” he says uncomfortably.  
  
“What the fuck?” Chanyeol yells. “No, no, _no_.”  
  
“You don’t get it—She has so much potential,” Baekhyun hisses back. “For this many years, you’ve been completely wasting her talent—No wonder Junmyeon replaced you.”  
  
“But that doesn’t mean she’s suddenly not a person with feelings? Everything about music is lost when it’s done unwillingly, okay? I don’t about know you, but while most people like music, they prioritize the well-being of a sixteen-year-ago over how fast she can run a chromatic scale.” Chanyeol’s ranting.  
  
“I was just frustrated, she could do so well—”  
  
“No one is perfect. Stop trying to force perfection—”  
  
“One passage was holding her back from her talent! This is for her own good—”  
  
Chanyeol snaps. “Holy fuck, you say that you’re doing it all for her, but you’re just a fucking obsessive bastard who gets off on the pain of others! Look at yourself! You’re not a teacher, you’re just abusive!”  
  
It’s like he slapped Baekhyun in the face. The pianist is completely frozen, eyes blown wide. His expression is nothing like the carefully guarded eyebrow raise that it had been earlier—now it’s open, vulnerable shock. The little hesitation in Baekhyun’s voice from earlier that Chanyeol had dismissed is now splashed across his face as guilt.  
  
Chanyeol’s heartbeat—and blood pressure, probably—is rising like crazy. And so, he takes Kyungsoo’s advice for once and gives himself some space. He backs out, storming down the hallway, ignoring Baekhyun’s stricken expression.  
  
“Hey, Chanyeol!” Jongdae chirps, walking towards him. “It’s Wednesday, what’re you doing here?”  
  
“Nothing,” Chanyeol mutters. “I’m going to head home now.”  
  
Jongdae braces one hand on the bathroom door, stopping and turning to face Chanyeol, face a little worried. “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah, just a little out of it.” Chanyeol sighs. “You need a ride tomorrow?”  
  
“Nah, I have a gig on the other side of town. B— someone else offered to drive me. Also, don’t worry about Wednesday for me, I got something worked out.” Jongdae furrows his eyebrows. “If you ever need to talk—”  
  
“I know, I know. I’ll call you.”  
  
Jongdae hesitantly nods. “Okay, dude. Well then… see you around?”  
  
“See you around.” Chanyeol turns tail and leaves Black Pearl, feeling queasy for some reason. He knows Baekhyun’s the one driving Jongdae to work now, and it’s not like he cares if Baekhyun and Jongdae are friends. But… how? Everything Jongdae stands for, Baekhyun seems to go against.  
  
Whatever. It’s not his battle to fight.  
  
  
  
  
He arrives at the music studio a little earlier than usual. It’s hard to admit, but Chanyeol’s starting to get used to the drum room. The ventilation is a lot better than the piano room. He warms up a little, poring over the piece that he’s giving to Sehun today—a rendition of Adele for the teenager. The drum piece needs a piano accompaniment, and Chanyeol pulls over the keyboard to practice a little.  
  
He can’t but sing along a little—it’s Adele, okay?  
  
Halfway through _Rolling in the Deep_ , a knock sounds on his door. Chanyeol looks up at the clock, and then at the door in confusion. Sehun’s lesson is scheduled at three-thirty, and it’s barely three.  
  
“Come in?” Chanyeol calls, voice squeakier than he intends. Damn it, someone just caught him singing. Maybe it’s Jongdae with some shitty meme, or maybe Junmyeon with a shittier joke? Chanyeol clears his throat. “Come in.”  
  
To his surprise, Baekhyun hesitantly pokes his head in. Oh god, why him of all people? Chanyeol’s temper spikes exponentially.  
  
“What do you want?” Chanyeol spits, lifting his hands off of the piano. He’s not really in a good mood, if Baekhyun tries any shit, he’s actually going to snap—  
  
“I, uh, I wanted to apologize,” Baekhyun mutters, scratching at the back of his neck.  
  
Oh.  
  
He looks anywhere but Chanyeol’s face, simultaneously shoving a fresh copy of _Classical Rock Hits_ at him as if it were the one talking. When Chanyeol doesn’t react, Baekhyun sets it down on his keyboard.  
  
“What?” Chanyeol stares at the book, a little bewildered. “Why—”  
  
Baekhyun swallows, still avoiding Chanyeol’s gaze. “What you said about Seulgi and how I shouldn’t have pushed her… I thought about it a lot. And I felt… I feel shitty. Really shitty. Thus,” he breaks off, gesturing at the book. “...Uh, yeah.”  
  
The book is in pristine condition, and Chanyeol can’t help but flip open the first page in mild wonder. They’d gone out of print years ago and when Baekhyun had first destroyed his copy, he’d thought he’d lost it for good.  
  
“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Seulgi,” Chanyeol says instead, handing the book to Baekhyun again.  
  
“I did,” Baekhyun responds, lips pulling into a thin line. He doesn’t accept the book back. “I also told her that we could change pieces if she wanted, or something. Told her that I didn’t want to pressure her and that I was sorry.”  
  
“You should be.”  
  
“I know.” Baekhyun exhales, closing his eyes. “Also, I wanted to apologize for destroying your copy of this book. Jongdae told me that it was really important to you. I’m sorry. And… for taking your job. I’m really, really sorry.”  
  
“Great.” It’s a one-word answer, a la Sehun. Chanyeol’s almost a little proud of how much he doesn’t care.  
  
Baekhyun shifts his weight, not leaving the room.  
  
“What?” Chanyeol asks. It comes out a little meaner than he means, and he kind of feels bad.  
  
“I’m working with the six-year-old… Jisung, I think his name was?”  
  
“And?”  
  
Baekhyun takes a deep breath. “And I wanted to ask you for help on how to teach the very basics of music.” He clears his throat, itching at the back of his neck again. “Please. I… I don’t know how to teach.”  
  
He looks so innocent like this, eyes sheepishly looking down. Chanyeol hesitates. His mind is yelling at him that this is the same guy who ripped _Classic Rock Hits_ , and made Seulgi cry… but those have been fixed now, right? Plus, it’d be rude to reject Baekhyun’s painstaking offer of peace.  
  
“Pull up a chair,” Chanyeol finally acquiesces. “I’m going to teach you a _thing_.” He waits for an affronted huff, or at least a sniff, but nothing comes. Baekhyun simply grabs the chair from behind the drum set, and moves it next to Chanyeol’s own, behind the keyboard.  
  
“Okay, look. You obviously know a ton about piano.” Chanyeol uses his pointer finger to jab at at middle. C. “Probably more than me. But have you ever worked with kids?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Alright. So let’s do this: pretend I’m a kid. I’ve never taken piano lessons before. What do you do?” Chanyeol leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.  
  
Awkwardly, Baekhyun stares at him. “Uh, this is middle C. It’s an important key on the staff.” He presses the same key that Chanyeol had. “The note above it is D, and the note above that is E.” He plays each key in succession.  
  
Chanyeol sighs. “Okay, no, that’s boring. Never mind, let’s try it this way: _you’re_ the kid. And you’ve never taken piano lessons. Give me your hand.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You heard me. Give me your hand.”  
  
Cautiously, Baekhyun places his right hand on the keyboard. Naturally, it falls into a perfect arch, fingers settling easily on the keys. Chanyeol uses his own hand to flatten it somewhat, rolling his eyes when Baekhyun immediately pulls his hand away from the pressure.  
  
“Jesus, I’m not going to crush your hand or anything. Just make it less… professional-looking. You’re a six-year-old kid. This is your first piano class. Don’t you remember how your first teacher taught you?”  
  
“I’m not very interested in repeating anything my first teacher did,” Baekhyun says curtly. Chanyeol realizes that he’s hit a nerve, and backpedals.  
  
“Okay, okay. Just cooperate, okay?”  
  
Baekhyun puts his hand flat on the keyboard, mashing down on at least four different notes. He turns to Chanyeol with a deadpan expression on his face.  
  
Chanyeol grits his teeth. Alright, he can work with that.  
  
“Baekhyun, before you play,” he says cheerfully, “you want to have good hand position. Make a house with your hands. The fingers are the pillars and should go down towards the keys. Your palm should be curved upwards like a dome. See—” Chanyeol gently molds Baekhyun’s hand into a slightly more exaggerated version of Baekhyun’s original position. “That’s the kind of shape that you want.”  
  
He’s completely aware that his voice is at max levels of patronizing. Baekhyun flushes, but otherwise doesn’t show any signs of being annoyed. Chanyeol’s almost impressed.  
  
“Alright, so, let’s start with the first note.” He uses Baekhyun’s thumb to press down on middle C. “This is Mr. Cat. This note is also known as middle C, because C is for cat. Say it with me!”  
  
Baekhyun’s face is incredulous. “You’re kidding—”  
  
“Say it with me!”  
  
The pianist takes a deep breath, and grits out, “C is for cat.”  
  
Chanyeol grins. “Good job!” he chirps, watching as Baekhyun’s cheeks glow pink with embarrassment. It’s kind of endearing. There’s a nearby stack of music paper, and Chanyeol pulls a sheet out. He also triumphantly finds a pencil. Quickly, he draws a middle C on the staff. “Mr. Cat lives here. Can you point to where Mr. Cat lives?”  
  
“Chanyeol, I think I’m fine—” Baekhyun sighs when he sees Chanyeol’s disapproving expression. He points at the middle C on the staff. “Mr. Cat lives there. Okay, I get the idea—”  
  
“His neighbors are Mr. Dog and Mr. Bee. Mr. Dog lives one floor up, while Mr. Bee lives one floor down. However, on the piano, Mr. Dog is to his right, while Mr. Bee is to his left.” Chanyeol completely ignores Baekhyun’s protest, and pulls his hand back down to the keyboard. Again, he uses Baekhyun’s hand to play all three notes, saying, “Mr. Bee, Mr. Cat, and Mr. Dog. Now you try.”  
  
Baekhyun doesn’t even bother arguing this time. He plays all three notes in succession, repeating, “Mr. Bee, Mr. Cat, and Mr. Dog.”  
  
“You’re doing great, Baekhyun!” Chanyeol turns around, looking for his bag. “Would you like a sticker?”  
  
He expects Baekhyun to finally lose his temper, but instead the other man laughs. Chanyeol stills, a little startled. Baekhyun has a nice laugh. It’s kind of strange.  
  
“Yes please,” Baekhyun says, playing along.  
  
“Penguin or polar bear?” Chanyeol holds out the sticker book, watching as Baekhyun pores over the multiple varieties of dancing arctic animals, wearing a stunning smile as he does so. Chanyeol’s voice dies in his throat. It’s like the first time he’d seen Baekhyun, before either of them had opened their mouth and ruined it.  
  
“Penguin, please.” Then, Baekhyun clears his throat, suddenly sobering up. “Thanks,” he says. “I, um, really appreciate this. Seriously.”  
  
A little awkwardly, Chanyeol bobs his head up and down in a strange nod. “It’s fine. Uh, hope it helped.”  
  
“Look—and yeah, I know this doesn’t excuse my behavior—but my first piano teacher was an awful person. Played incredibly well, but was an absolute dick. I hated his guts. He was always so obsessive about everything, and would rip into me for the smallest mistakes. ” Baekhyun confesses. He stops, and smiles bitterly. “That’s why what you said really, really hit me. I spent so long hating him, and I ended up becoming like him anyway.”  
  
His words are laced with a lot of guilt and self-hatred. Chanyeol’s heart softens a little at the raw emotion, and he shifts in his seat.  
  
“Did your piano teacher ever apologize to you?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Chanyeol raises both his eyebrows at Baekhyun. “Then you’re already doing better. If you fuck up, just keep moving on. The longer you spend dwelling on the past, the worse your future gets.”  
  
The uncannily wise words startle a genuine smile out of Baekhyun. Yeah, Chanyeol will admit it. Baekhyun’s quite pretty. His eyes crinkle up into crescents, and his lips pull into a little rectangle. He’s cute.  
  
But that doesn’t mean anything. In an attempt to look anywhere but Baekhyun, Chanyeol looks out the door—and spies Sehun waiting outside.  
  
“Shit, sorry,” he says. “My three-thirty lesson is here.”  
  
Baekhyun looks up from where he’d been carefully peeling off a cute penguin with a purple scarf. He looks out the door too, eyes widening when he sees Sehun. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll get going.”  
  
With that, he’s gone. Chanyeol feels… strange.  
  
“Were you teaching another lesson?” Sehun asks, the first sign of teenaged curiosity Chanyeol had ever seen from him.  
  
“You could say that,” Chanyeol says, still looking at the door where Baekhyun had left from. “Pull out your book, we have work to do.”  
  
  
  
  
Sunday afternoon, the unthinkable happens—Chanyeol gets a phone call from Jongin. It’s surreal, seeing the familiar number light up on his screen, and Chanyeol actually spends a few seconds staring at the phone in shock before his brain kicks in and he scrambles to accept the call.  
  
“Chanyeol!” Jongin’s voice is deeper than Chanyeol remembers.  
  
“Hey, Jongin!” he says, voice a little high due to awkwardness. They haven’t talked in almost three years, it’s hard to pick up where they’d left off before. “Haven’t talked to you in ages, how’ve you been?”  
  
“It’s been pretty great! I’m working as a journalist now, and life’s pretty cool. There’s been a lot of changes in the department and…” Jongin rambles on about his job.  
  
Chanyeol shifts in his seat, feeling warm inside as he listens to his former student talk animatedly about something that he’d always wanted to do. “So any current projects that you’re excited about?”  
  
There’s a loud gasp from the other side. “Oh gosh, I completely forgot! Recently, the head of department just green lighted one of the ideas I’ve had forever—I’m working on an expose about abuse of power and corruption in the arts, especially focused on dance and music training. Right now, there’s no actual writing going on, just the team and I compiling a ton of information on the topic.” Jongin finally takes a breath. “I would ask you to send any possible information my way, but Black Pearl Studio has the best staff in the world, so there’s no corruption there!”  
  
“Aw, thank you, Jongin. Only possible because we have the best students, too,” Chanyeol responds, chuckling when he hears Jongin’s delighted laughter.  
  
They talk for a long while, but finally, Jongin has another commitment he needs to run to.  
  
“Promise I’ll call you again soon!”  
  
“Yeah, yeah! Keep me updated on that project of yours.”  
  
“No problem!” Jongin says goodbye, and hangs up.  
  
After his call, Chanyeol can’t help but feel happy. Here’s a kid who had big dreams, and now has reached those big dreams after working his ass off. Jongin’s right where he wants to be, doing the job that is what he wants, and Chanyeol couldn’t be prouder.  
  
If only Chanyeol could be like that. He sits down, thinks about his life. What’s he doing with it?  
  
There’s EXO, of course, but then there’s Black Pearl… And he can’t genuinely say that he enjoys either, now. Don’t get him wrong, Black Pearl is amazing. But teaching drums instead of piano just feels wrong, and even if Chanyeol can’t put his finger on exactly why, it’s somehow worse than data entry management.  
  
He dreads his lessons, all four—two now, the other two had been siblings and quit due to a scheduling issue—of his students. There’s Sehun, who doesn’t care, and another kid who talks even less. It’s painful and boring and Chanyeol hates it so, so, so much.  
  
Unbidden, Minseok’s offer of a full-time job at EXO springs to mind. Chanyeol feels awful for just thinking about it… but he can’t get it out of his head.  
  
He can’t sleep the whole night.  
  
  
  
  
Surprisingly, the person who helps Chanyeol realize he needs to quit is Sehun. Not directly, of course, but by setting an example.  
  
“I, uh, this is going to be my last lesson,” the teenager says as he packs up his bag, tucking his drumsticks away.  
  
“Ah, really? Sorry to hear that,” Chanyeol says, trying really hard to inject some sympathy into his words. “Was it something I did?”  
  
Sehun shakes his head. “Nah, you’re pretty cool. I just don’t think drumming is for me. It doesn’t make me happy. Uh, sorry.”  
  
“No, no, that’s perfectly fine. Drums weren’t my first choice either.” Chanyeol looks at Sehun, pulling up one side of his mouth into the :/ face. “Thus is life.”  
  
“Yeah, I just think if I’m going to spend so much time on a hobby, it should at least make me happy, you know?” Sehun shrugs. “Maybe you should think about that too.”  
  
“Maybe I should.”  
  
Sehun’s a good kid, Chanyeol thinks, watching him leave the studio for the last time. It’s kind of weird. He’s almost happy for him—even if Chanyeol’d just lost a student, it’s obvious how much Sehun hadn’t liked the class, and now it’s like he’s been... set free.  
  
Yeah, Chanyeol’s going to do it. He stands up, packs his bag, and walks the twenty feet from the drum practice room to Junmyeon’s office.  
  
Along the way, he passes by Baekhyun’s piano room—he’s with a student right now, but Chanyeol doesn’t recognize the kid. Must be new. He watches curiously as Baekhyun animatedly explains something, smiling brightly when the kid seems to understand. Baekhyun holds his hand out for a high-five, and the student happily high-fives him back.  
  
Satisfied, Chanyeol’s resolve is only strengthened. Baekhyun will do just fine.  
  
The office is empty when Chanyeol gets there, so he grabs a nearby sheet of music paper and writes a short note to Junmyeon.  
  
Then, he grabs his books for the second time this semester, and takes them home.  
  
  
  
  
He’s just settling in for the night, sipping at a cup of comforting tea, curled up on an armchair in his apartment. Well, curled up as well as a six-foot-ish man can be. Instead of reading, Chanyeol’s activity of choice is mindlessly scrolling through his phone.  
  
He doesn’t miss Black Pearl—teaching drums, that is. The thought of teaching piano still makes him a little wistful. He just files it with all of the other dreams that never made it to light. Life without Black Pearl is less painful. It is mundane and boring and full of Yifan-ness, but Chanyeol can’t say that he’s unhappy. Of course, he can’t exactly say that he is happy either, but Chanyeol has long since learned to live with that.  
  
Halfway through reading an incredibly interesting article about the seven different kinds of introverts and how to spot them, Chanyeol suddenly gets a text. Annoyed, Chanyeol’s about to swipe it away, but he hesitates just long enough to read the message.  
  
_hey, is this Chanyeol?_ (add contact?)  
  
The number’s not recognized by his phone, but the sender knows his name. Chanyeol hasn’t given his number out in a while—a fact that Jongdae constantly brings up— so he’s not quite sure who it is.  
  
_uh, yeah? who are you,_ he responds, setting down his cup of tea on the coffee table (hardy-har-har) and focusing on his phone.  
  
He watches as the other person types.  
  
_it’s baekhyun_  
  
Thank god Chanyeol’d already set down his drink, or else he would have dropped it on himself. Before Chanyeol can respond, more texts pop up. Whoa, Baekhyun types fast. In Chanyeol’s head, he already hears Jongdae’s snide comment: _you’re just slow_. Hearing the singer’s voice in his head is weird and kind of annoying. Maybe he needs to stop hanging around Jongdae so much.  
  
_jongdae gave me ur number_  
  
Yup, definitely need to stop hanging around Jongdae. Chanyeol makes a mental note to strangle the living daylights out of Jongdae the next time he sees him. Which probably won’t be for a while, considering the fact that Chanyeol’s quit Black Pearl, but...  
  
_don’t freak out_  
  
_also don’t block me i need to talk to you about something really important_  
  
_it’s seulgi_  
  
It’s been less than ten texts, and Chanyeol’s already sick of Baekhyun’s habit of breaking up one text into several randomized segments. Chanyeol lets the passive-aggressive part of him take over—he takes the second to add Baekhyun as a contact, ignores all of his texts, and calls Baekhyun instead. It takes a few rings for him to pick up, and when he does, he doesn’t sound happy.  
  
“What the hell, dude? You’re sure you’re twenty-something? Even my fucking _parents_ don’t call me when I text them,” Baekhyun hisses into the phone, although it sounds like he’s trying to stay quiet.  
  
“In the span of twenty seconds, you sent me five texts that could have been shortened into one,” Chanyeol defends. On the other end, he hears Baekhyun start to say something, but he stops himself midway, and sighs.  
  
“Okay, okay, like I said, I need to talk to you about Seulgi.”  
  
“Please do tell. If you made her cry again, I’m going to cut off your—”  
  
That startles a quiet laugh out of Baekhyun. “No, no. There’s a regional competition for a scholarship to a nearby music college. Seulgi’s a senior this year, and she applied. We’re working on a piece right now.”  
  
Time is a strange thing. Chanyeol doesn’t feel that old, but Seulgi had started with him the summer before her sophomore year in high school. Now, she’s going off to college in less than a year. He doesn’t really know how to respond to that, so he settli on a very intelligent humming noise. “Mm. So, did you call me just to update me on this… or?”  
  
“No, I wanted to ask you for a favor—”  
  
“Haven’t you already done that once?” Chanyeol muses. “Where’s my payment?”  
  
“Shit, uh, what do you want?” He sounds completely serious. Chanyeol snorts.  
  
“Buy me dinner. The more expensive the restaurant, the better,” he says sarcastically, but when Baekhyun goes silent, he hurriedly follows it up with another sentence. “I’m kidding. What do you want?”  
  
From the other side, Baekhyun hems and haws as if he were actually considering changing the topic. “If it’s going to bother you, I don’t think I should—” he says snootily.  
  
“Tell me, you fucker, or I’m going to hang up on you.”  
  
“Fine, fine. Seulgi has an additional lesson every Saturday night, now. This week is our second one. I want you to be there.”  
  
  
  
  
Going to Black Pearl on a weekend is weird. The parking lot is basically empty, and Chanyeol’s almost convinced that he’s been duped as he stands by the locked door. His phone screen reads seven oh-two, and the lesson had been scheduled to start at seven sharp. It’s not too early anymore—and it’s cold, dark, and generally miserable. By this time of year, seven o’clock is practically night already.  
  
But just when Chanyeol’s about to head back to his truck, a small blue car pulls into the lot. Baekhyun steps out, wrapping a scarf around his neck. He’s still shivering, despite the coat he’s wearing.  
  
“You took your sweet time,” Chanyeol calls, crossing his arms.  
  
“Sure did.” Baekhyun fumbles with the keys to the studio, hands shaking from the cold. It takes him a few seconds to unlock the door. “Seulgi can’t come until quarter of because she has to study for a test. My phone died, so I couldn’t call you.”  
  
“You could have come a few minutes earlier. I could have frozen to death or something,” Chanyeol whines, shaking his hands to try and regain the circulation.  
  
“But you didn’t,” Baekhyun mutters, “I tried, okay? I was at work.”  
  
That’s interesting. Baekhyun’s never mentioned a part-time job before. They climb up the stairs together, Baekhyun still shivering slightly.  
  
“Wait, what do you do?” Chanyeol asks. He watches as Baekhyun rolls his eyes.  
  
“I’m a waiter at a nearby restaurant. It sucks. Oh, I play the piano sometimes to accompany the singers they have some nights? Jongdae’s there sometimes, which makes it more bearable. I hate customers. Sometime people can be the worst.”  
  
Chanyeol feels a twinge of empathy. “Same. I co-manage data entry, and I absolutely hate my coworkers.”  
  
It turns out they have common ground on more than just hating humanity, and the conversation carries on for quite some time.  
  
By the time Seulgi comes, Chanyeol’s not really feeling uncomfortable around Baekhyun anymore. They both go silent when she walks in, Baekhyun sitting on the piano bench, Chanyeol in the other plastic folding chair.  
  
“Hi, Seulgi. Since you were so nervous about the competition, I figured there’s someone that I could bring in,” Baekhyun explains, gesturing at Chanyeol.  
  
“Hey, S.” Chanyeol grins, waving.  
  
Seulgi stands in the doorway, clutching her books to her chest in a moment of pure shock. But she unfreezes less than a second later.  
  
“Yeol!” she yells happily, running up to give Chanyeol a hug. “You’re back!”  
  
“Eh, not quite, but I’m happy to help you with whatever you need.”  
  
“Why don’t you show Chanyeol what you’ve been doing?” Baekhyun stands up, letting Seulgi move to the piano. She opens up the piano, and lays out five sheets of paper on the stand. “This, lady and gentleman,” Baekhyun says dramatically to Chanyeol, “is Chopin’s Nocturne in B major, opus thirty-two. Seulgi has been working on few pieces for quite some while, and now that she’s going for a competition, we decided on this one to polish.”  
  
“I worked on the _poco piu lento_ part that wasn’t going smoothly last week,” Seulgi says, quickly warming up with a few scales. “Most of it’s going better, even the gliss.”  
  
She starts playing. It’s lovely. Baekhyun counts her through a few sections, conducting with his hands and humming along to the melody.  
  
“So what do you think, Chanyeol? Obviously it’s going to take a little more time than this, since Seulgi hasn’t played classical in such depth before, but isn’t there so much progress?” Baekhyun asks once she’s finished, after Chanyeol had given her a small round of applause.  
  
“Are you still Seulgi?” he jokes, eliciting a smile. “But seriously, that was great. I don’t… I really can’t give any input.”  
  
The lesson continues on from there, with Baekhyun directing everything. He asks for Chanyeol’s thoughts a few more times, but after the third or fourth time of Chanyeol shrugging, Baekhyun takes the hint.  
  
What’s interesting is that Baekhyun never even touches the piano. Instead, he watches Seulgi play, and then verbally instructs her on how to balance the melody lines, how to create a sense of wistfulness in the passage, whatever.  
  
Chanyeol feels like an outsider looking in, unable to help at all. He settles in, and leans his head against the wall.  
  
  
  
  
It becomes a new routine for Chanyeol to tag along every Saturday for Seulgi’s extra lesson. Every week, both him and Baekhyun show up slightly earlier, and end up talking to each other. Jongdae hadn’t been exaggerating when he said that Baekhyun was hilarious—he _is_. Chanyeol ends up laughing at far more of Baekhyun’s jokes than expected.  
  
The pianist is still just as sharp-tongued as he’s always been, but instead of attacking Chanyeol, it’s more of a sarcastic banter, which is something that Chanyeol’s gotten used to around Jongdae. As each week passes, Chanyeol can see more and more of why Jongdae likes Baekhyun. They’re almost scarily similar in some aspects.  
  
The conversation topic has moved past from shitty coworkers to basically any aspect of the week prior, resulting in some pretty interesting discussions. Chanyeol learns that Baekhyun is practically allergic to cucumbers. (Chanyeol laughs at him. It’s hilarious.) He tells Baekhyun that he’s scared of flying bugs. (Baekhyun laughs at him. It’s less hilarious.) Useless facts about himself that he wouldn’t think of with anyone else; childhood stories of him doing dumb things; random occurrences during the week—those are the kinds of things that are too easy to talk about with Baekhyun.  
  
Chanyeol had even asked about the homework burning incident.  
  
“We were young and dumb and sick of math, okay? Stop fucking judging me, I can hear you,” was the first sentence out of Baekhyun’s mouth after a lengthy pause. The story that followed did not disappoint.  
  
They text more. Chanyeol starts looking forwards to the small series of blurbs that pop up whenever Baekhyun’s typing. It makes the work day less painful. Actually, they text a lot. It’d almost be worrying if Chanyeol wasn’t having so much fun sending ugly emoticons in response to Baekhyun’s uglier emoticons.  
  
Baekhyun even picks up Seulgi’s nickname, and now calls him Yeol more often than his actual name. In kind, Chanyeol’s taken to dropping the second syllable of the other man’s name. For pure convenience, he swears, but secretly, it’s kinda nice to have the nicknames. Plus, whenever Chanyeol calls Baekhyun’s name by its shortened form, the pianist always has the cutest smile on his face afterwards.  
  
But despite all the magical friendship bonding, Chanyeol’s not really sure why he’s there. He can’t seem to understand the nuances and small details the same way Baekhyun can, and he never has any kind of criticisms or input on the playing.  
  
He feels more and more useless as the weeks go on, and one day, after the lesson as Baekhyun’s packing up, Chanyeol lingers around to ask.  
  
“Hey, Baek, can I ask you a thing?”  
  
Baekhyun looks up from his phone, eyes curious. He’s smiling from the usage of the nickname, but it disappears when he sees Chanyeol’s serious expression.  
  
“Uh, so,” Chanyeol says awkwardly, shifting his feet. “It’s like I can’t help Seulgi at all. You seem to totally get it… I just don’t get why…”  
  
“Why I asked you to come?” Baekhyun asks gently, turning his phone off and putting it in his pocket. He looks like he’s getting ready to leave. “You’re doing a lot already.”  
  
“How? I’m not doing anything.”  
  
“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun sighs, wrapping his scarf around his neck. “You think you’re not doing anything, but by just being here and being around, Seulgi’s a million times more comfortable than just with me. Practicing wasn’t the only reason why I wanted to get in touch with you… I brought you in because I wanted Seulgi to feel safe. She really wants this scholarship, but at the time, she was terrified of me. Without you bridging the gap, nothing would have ever gotten done.”  
  
A little shocked, Chanyeol doesn’t say anything. The genuine care in Baekhyun’s voice surprises him.  
  
“Oh,” he says, throat dry. “Whoa, okay.”  
  
“Plus, it’s not like you haven’t helped. That time Seulgi freaked out, weren’t you the one who gave the pep talk and got tissues? When Seulgi realized that her exam was on the same day, weren’t you the one who sat down and helped her put her schedule back together? Maybe I can teach her how to play piano, but remember what you said a long time ago? You can teach her how to be a good person.”  
  
Chanyeol doesn’t say anything.  
  
“You’re a good person,” Baekhyun tells him quietly. “Really, you are, Yeol.” He gives a little wistful smile, and then walks out of the room.  
  
  
  
  
The asshole does it. Baekhyun does it. The day before Seulgi’s competition, they cancel the lesson to give everyone a break, and Baekhyun fucking buys Chanyeol dinner at the one of the most expensive restaurants around.  
  
He’d received a text from Baekhyun with an address and instructions to get there at six o’clock—also, to dress nicely. Thank god he had. Chanyeol hadn’t expected to come to _Lady Luck_ , of all restaurants in the area.  
  
“You’re joking,” Chanyeol says as he sits down at the restaurant table, slinging his jacket over the chair.  
  
“Whatever you want off of the menu, all on me, _sweetheart_ ,” Baekhyun says, already seated at the table, a smug smile on his face. It almost looks like he’s the one getting the free meal. This time, _sweetheart_ isn’t used like an insult—the way it’s said is Jongdae-esque, with an undertone of a specific emotion that only Baekhyun has.  
  
“I didn’t mean for you to actually invite me out to dinner,” Chanyeol says in utter disbelief, looking around at the scenery. It’s posh to the max, almost uncomfortably so. Baekhyun’s dressed in a collared black shirt, but it’s made out of silk or something (Chanyeol failed Home Ec. in high school, okay) that shimmers from the candlelight whenever he moves.  
  
“Well, we might as well celebrate, yeah? Competition’s tomorrow, we should de-stress. I told Seulgi’s parents to let her have fun tonight, we should too. Why not come to Lady Luck?” Baekhyun pauses, and then a shit-eating grin spreads across his face. “Plus, Jongdae’s singing here tonight.”  
  
“You’re _awful_ ,” Chanyeol says, but he’s laughing. “Are you really going to spend so much money just to hear Jongdae sing? You can hear it for free anytime at Black Pearl.”  
  
“Ah, but Jongdae’s doing a solo tonight, on stage, without piano accompaniment.” Baekhyun remarks, grinning evilly. “I took the day off, and he’s been pissed at me since this morning. Oh, look, he’s spotted me.”  
  
Chanyeol turns and nearly dies laughing when he sees Jongdae stomping towards their table.  
  
“Byun Baekhyun, you _shithead_ ,” he hisses, when he approaches.  
  
“Hi to you too,” Baekhyun says mock-politely. “Are you here to take our order?”  
  
At the mention of “ _our_ ”, Jongdae looks to the right and finally sees Chanyeol. His entire demeanor changes.  
  
“Chanyeol!” he exclaims. Jongdae pulls Chanyeol into a hug. “Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in so long.”  
  
And it’s true. They’d kept up over text, but Chanyeol hadn’t seen Jongdae in person.  
  
“Hey, Jongdae—” Chanyeol starts, and then his head is snapping back because Jongdae just slapped him in the face. Chanyeol starts again, amending his words:“What the _fuck_ , Jongdae—”  
  
Across the table, Baekhyun stares at them, torn between looking worried and stifling his laughter.  
  
“You fucking up and left Black Pearl!” Jongdae yells. “You told me yourself that it wasn’t that easy to get rid of you—so what the fuck happened, huh, Park Chanyeol?”  
  
“This is like two months old,” he squawks in protest, looking back at Baekhyun. The pianist mouths _sorry_ , but Chanyeol doesn’t know whether that’s for Jongdae’s slap or taking his job half a year ago. “And it’s not like I didn’t tell you, you were probably the first person I told.”  
  
“Still!” Jongdae huffs, turning his head away. God, Chanyeol thinks, he acts like Chanyeol set Black Pearl on fire or something, instead of just leaving. But suddenly, Jongdae realizes something, and begins looking back and forth between Baekhyun and Chanyeol quickly.  
  
“Is this—”  
  
“ _No,_ ” Baekhyun says forcefully before another word can come out of Jongdae’s mouth. He’s glaring daggers at Jongdae, but his murderous look is somewhat dulled by the faint rose dusting his cheeks. Chanyeol stares, confused. “Don’t you have songs to sing, Jongdae?”  
  
“That I do,” Jongdae says, cackling. He waves goodbye to Chanyeol, and whispers something to the waiter coming to their table.  
  
The waiter is dressed impeccably, and he pours two identical flutes of champagne for Chanyeol and Baekhyun.  
  
“Thanks, Luhan,” Baekhyun lilts, laughing when the waiter winks at him and takes down their orders—Chanyeol ends up getting lobster bisque for an appetizer and lamb chops with balsamic reduction for a main meal. Somehow, he doesn’t catch what Baekhyun orders, but the waiter—Luhan?—gets the order down anyhow.  
  
“So… you work here?” Chanyeol asks when the waiter leaves.  
  
Baekhyun grins. “Yes, I do. I hate the customers, but our waiting staff is pretty bomb, if I do say so myself.”  
  
When the food comes, Chanyeol’s eyes widen to the size of the plates that it’s served on.  
  
“Holy crap,” he says, poking at his perfectly seared lamb chop. “Holy crap.”  
  
Baekhyun’s nibbling on his own fried calamari. “Credit that to Zitao. Resident culinary mastermind, and also kid who cried that one time we found a spider in the kitchen.”  
  
Chanyeol snorts. “Okay, so should we talk through tomorrow’s plan?”  
  
“Sure, buzzkill,” Baekhyun groans.  
  
Ignoring him, Chanyeol continues as if he hadn’t heard anything at all. “So tomorrow, you come over to mine after your morning shift. We’ll drive there in one car because parking is fucking expensive. Seulgi’s family drives her. We get there, and she’ll compete—”  
  
“Then, Seulgi will leave almost immediately after, to rush back home in time for her exams. Then, a while later, we go to the awards ceremony, Seulgi wins in a cleansweep and life is good,” Baekhyun finishes, nodding happily. “We’ve got this, Chanyeol.”  
  
Chanyeol grins. “We do. I can’t believe we actually do.” Across the table, Baekhyun beams at him. Time seems to stop for minute as they stare each other. It’s a weird feeling. Chanyeol doesn’t want it to end, though.  
  
Too bad Baekhyun clears his throat and looks away. Chanyeol’s relieved and yet disappointed at the same time.  
  
“A toast to Seulgi,” Baekhyun says, picking up his champagne flute. Likewise, Chanyeol picks up his, but before they can clink glasses and down the alcohol-flavored fruit juice (not actually, but it tastes like it, okay?), Jongdae’s voice sounds.  
  
The singer’s on stage, makeup done, holding a microphone in his hand. “This song goes out to my great friends here tonight, especially the one who was supposed to accompany me on stage, but didn’t, because he’s an asshole.” Jongdae closes his eyes, and then starts singing the cheesiest love song that Chanyeol has ever had the misfortune of hearing.  
  
“Never mind,” Baekhyun hisses, a fierce blush making its way across his cheeks. His arm is still outstretched with the champagne flute in his hand. “A toast to how fucking _shitty_ Kim Jongdae is.”  
  
“Amen,” Chanyeol responds, and they clink glasses.  
  
  
  
  
Baekhyun’s wearing a full-out suit, and it looks damn good. The pianist had shown up on Chanyeol’s doorstep all decked out, makeup done nicely, hair combed. He looks _really_ damn good, but Chanyeol doesn’t say that, because God knows Baekhyun doesn’t need his ego inflated any further.  
  
“Ready to go?” Chanyeol asks, tying the knot in his own tie. Baekhyun doesn’t respond. “Baek, are you ready to go?”  
  
“Your place is nice,” Baekhyun remarks, looking around the living room. “Oh, sorry, what?”  
  
“Are you ready to go?” Chanyeol repeats, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Baekhyun doesn’t sound that great, and Chanyeol shoots a quick glance at him. “Uh, can I leave my workbag here? I accidentally took it upstairs with me.”  
  
“No problem.” Chanyeol takes Baekhyun’s bag from him, setting it down on the couch. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”  
  
“Nothing, just a little nervous, that’s all.” It’s a blatant lie, but Chanyeol doesn’t push.  
  
They go to Chanyeol’s truck (“Still think we should have gone with mine,” Baekhyun gripes, but he gets in anyway) and hang up the thirty dollar parking pass that they’d purchased the night before just for this competition.  
  
“Seulgi’s got this,” Chanyeol says to himself as he starts the car.  
  
“She’s got this,” Baekhyun repeats, holding out his hand for a fist bump. “She’s going to kill it.”  
  
Chanyeol fist bumps him back, grinning. “That she will.”  
  
And yet, despite the happy thoughts he’s desperately trying to keep in his head, Chanyeol can’t help but feel like something’s going to go very, terribly wrong. He tries to shake it off as nerves, but when he looks over and sees Baekhyun’s unsettled expression, it seems less like a feeling of worry and more like one of impending doom.  
  
  
  
  
Seulgi bows, her hands trembling just a little as she sits down at the piano. Next to Chanyeol, Baekhyun inhales sharply, digging his nails into the palm of his other hand. It all comes down to this, Chanyeol knows, and he rests a hand on Baekhyun’s knee to calm him down. The room falls silent as Seulgi breathes on stage, placing her hands on the keys of the piano. Baekhyun‘s leg is bouncing furiously in his seat, his eyes trained on Seulgi and his bottom lip bitten to shreds.  
  
It’s oddly terrifying to see Seulgi onstage.  
  
Beethoven’s sixteenth sonata in E minor is absolutely stunning, and Chanyeol is left breathless as he listens to the music flowing out of the Steinway. Seulgi looks completely at peace now, all signs of anxiety washed out by the beautiful arpeggios in her left hand. Chanyeol can’t believe it: he knew Seulgi was good, but from the practice room to the stage is another level.  
  
He turns around to say something to Baekhyun—something between the lines of _holy fuck_ and _how the fuck_ —but is cut off by Baekhyun’s grimacing face.  
  
“What’s wrong?” he whispers, nudging Baekhyun’s fancy leather shoe. Baekhyun winces, and then turns to look at Chanyeol. “Her dynamics are a mess,” Baekhyun hisses, eyebrows furrowing together. “She’s too nervous.” He’s leaning so close that Chanyeol can feel his breath on his ear.  
  
Chanyeol raises an eyebrow in response, feeling slighted. Baekhyun shakes his head, crosses his hands in his lap, and goes back to chewing his lip. On stage, Seulgi finishes with a flourish, rising up unsteadily. Her hands are shaking again, Chanyeol notices. She bows once, and the room is full of thunderous applause. Baekhyun’s clapping, but the look on his face is odd.  
  
Before the next person can be called up to stage, Seulgi stands back up, quietly excuses herself, and slips out of the concert hall, where her parents were probably waiting to pick her up. After a moment of hesitation, Baekhyun gets up and runs out after her. Before Chanyeol can reach the door, the next contestant reaches the stage, and he’s met with the stern glare of the terrifying woman guarding the door.  
  
“Apologies, sir,” she hisses, sounding not sorry at all, “But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until the next performer is finished until you can see your friends.” Chanyeol takes the hint and retreats back to his seat, frustrated and itching to go after Baekhyun. Would it really be _quite_ that rude if he interrupted? The contestant’s playing Fur Elise anyway, it’s not like he’d be missing something spectacular or anything.  
  
But another withering glare from the woman guarding the door sends Chanyeol’s hope fluttering away, and he has to listen to three minutes of yet another rendition of the most overplayed piece.  
  
By the time he manages to get out, only Baekhyun is standing in the hallway.  
  
“What was it?” Chanyeol whispers.  
  
“Nothing, I just congratulated her,” Baekhyun responds. He swallows once, shrugging a little. “She played quite well.”  
  
“But you’re not satisfied with her?”  
  
Baekhyun shakes his head, and Chanyeol prepares to yell at him, but he stops when he hears Baekhyun’s words. “It’s not Seulgi. Seulgi did amazing.”  
  
“You’re sure—”  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Chanyeol.”  
  
Chanyeol nods, getting the hint that Baekhyun doesn’t really want to talk about it. With that, both men stand in silence, nothing else to say. It takes another few minutes for the pianist inside to finish, and then they go back in. Honestly, the only place Chanyeol wants to go is home, but Baekhyun seems like he wants to listen to all of the competitors.  
  
They settle in for another two hours, Chanyeol mostly studying the floor, sometimes looking at Baekhyun to gauge the performance quality of the student on stage. Baekhyun’s professionally neutral, but after working with him for so long, Chanyeol’s starting to pick up subtle hints about how Baekhyun reacts to music. When he closes his eyes and gently sways with the music: he’s into it. When he starts focusing on things other than music: he doesn’t like the performer.  
  
Chanyeol’s hypothesis is proven true during the worst (and last) performance of the night, when a girl—clearly too nervous to function, poor thing—fumbles her way through an entire Bach Invention. After the first thirty seconds, Baekhyun turns to Chanyeol with a pained expression on his face. It’s the first time that Baekhyun’s looked directly at him since Seulgi went home.  
  
The eye contact lasts for a little longer than intended, and Chanyeol’s just about feeling like he should look away before it gets awkward, when the terrified girl on stage accidently hits the wrong chord during the climax of her piece. The entire room seems to flinch together, including Chanyeol. The judges scribble furiously on a clipboard, only serving to make the poor girl more nervous. Baekhyun puts his head in his hands.  
  
Finally, she finishes, and doesn’t even bother bowing before running out of the room. A mixed amount of applause sounds. Baekhyun and Chanyeol both clap out of politeness, but Chanyeol spies a middle-aged, balding man in the third row that seems to be particularly against applauding. Instead of clapping, he leans back in his chair, arms behind his head. Chanyeol fumes. What a douche.  
  
The announcer comes up on stage one more time, thanking everyone for attending. “The results will be out in one to two weeks! Please make sure that all students have current information on file in case scholarships have been awarded.”  
  
There’s a smattering of applause again, and then everyone starts shuffling around to get out of the concert they’ve been in for three hours.  
  
Chanyeol stands up, stretching his arms and stifling a yawn. He extends a hand to Baekhyun, who takes it and pulls himself up, subtly stretching as well.  
  
“Did you see that man?” Chanyeol asks Baekhyun, relying on the noise of everyone else to cover up his words in case anyone was listening. “He didn’t clap for the last performer, and then made a huge show about not clapping.”  
  
“Which man?” Baekhyun asks, turning around to grab his jacket from where he’d put it after taking it off earlier in the competition. “C’mon, let’s get out of here before traffic gets too bad.”  
  
They walk together, Chanyeol looking around for the man. Finally, as they finally get out of the room, Chanyeol spots him again. The narrow hallway isn’t very big, and the man isn’t much farther behind them. His head is turned away, talking animatedly with some random woman with blond hair, but it’s without a doubt the same person. He’s still wearing the ugly gray tuxedo.  
  
“That guy,” Chanyeol whispers, pointing. “Douche.”  
  
Baekhyun cranes his neck. “I can’t see.”  
  
“Do you want me to pick you up?” Chanyeol jokes, laughing under his breath when he feels Baekhyun’s elbow jab him.  
  
“Shut up, I’m short, okay? Wait, is it the one in the gray tux—” Baekhyun inhales sharply, and stops speaking. As if on cue, the middle-aged man turns around.  
  
“Fuck,” Baekhyun hisses, and he goes completely still. “Hide me.”  
  
“What?” Chanyeol asks, but he does so and stands directly in front of the shorter man. “What are you hiding from?”  
  
Baekhyun grimaces, turning his head the other way. Chanyeol licks his lips, shifts his weight from one leg to another, and is prepared to turn around when suddenly, Baekhyun curses again.  
  
“Fuck, he saw me,” Baekhyun mutters, suddenly grabbing Chanyeol’s hand and pulling him towards the door. “Let’s go, let’s go, _go_ —”  
  
Chanyeol looks back, watching with growing horror as the man excuses himself from the woman and makes his way through the crowd towards them. It doesn’t take long for him to get there, despite Baekhyun’s best efforts.  
  
“Ah, if it isn’t Byun Baekhyun!” The man chirps, and Chanyeol watches in mild worry as Baekhyun stops cold, plasters on a fake smile, and whirls around so fast that Chanyeol’s arm feels like it’s being torn out of the socket. It’s the douche who hadn’t clapped for the last girl. The man extends a hand for a handshake to Baekhyun, who pointedly ignores it.  
  
“Why yes, it is me,” he says, eyes crinkled. Normally, Chanyeol finds Baekhyun’s smiles pretty darn cute, but this particular one sets his teeth on edge. There is something terrifying and hateful in his eyes, and Chanyeol is glad that he isn’t the one on the receiving end.  
  
The other man seems to have no qualms, however. “Why, I haven’t seen you around these competitions in years! What inspired you to make a comeback—oh, you haven’t played yet, have you? Are you here to win some small titles before going back in to play with the bigger fish?” The man laughs, but there’s no noticeable joke and Chanyeol’s getting a very, very bad vibe. Although, Baekhyun has yet to release his grip on Chanyeol’s hand.  
  
“Yeah, I’m not playing,” Baekhyun says, not even attempting to laugh along. His face is still frozen in a smile, but his eyes scream _kill yourself_. It’s the coldest expression that Chanyeol has ever seen.  
  
The man stops laughing. “Byun Baekhyun, not playing? You’re surely joking?”  
  
Baekhyun’s lips thin, and his smile becomes strained. “Nope,” he says, voice painfully cheerful. “I’m not playing. Nor am I even within the age boundaries.”  
  
“Not playing or can’t play? ” The man asks, sidling up closer to Baekhyun. Chanyeol takes a hint for both of them and clears his throat, startling both the man and Baekhyun.  
  
“Uh, as much as I’d like to stay and chat, Mr…?”  
  
“Cho,” the man supplied, looking bored and annoyed with Chanyeol. His tone is completely different, and Chanyeol bristles. “Dr. Cho, please, I do have my masters in music.”  
  
“Okay, so, as I was saying, Dr. Cho, as much as we’d love to stay and chat, our student, Seulgi, needs to get home soon for another time commitment. Apologies, but we need to go find her right now—” Chanyeol lies, trying to get Baekhyun out from where he obviously doesn’t want to be. However, at the mention of Seulgi, both Baekhyun and the Dr. Cho’s heads snap to Chanyeol.  
  
Baekhyun’s eyes are wide-open: furious or surprised, Chanyeol can’t tell. Chanyeol quickly tries to backtrack, trying to see if he’d said anything out of line. He doesn’t come up with anything, and is about to drag Baekhyun away when—  
  
“You? A teacher? The one in the red dress?” Dr. Cho sneers. “I should have known, Byun. You have a signature style. Like teacher, like pupil, huh. Both your hands shake like leaves in hurricanes. Except she’s never had an accident… did you teach her to play like that because that’s the only way you can play now?” Cho mockingly shakes his left hand in the air.  
  
Chanyeol balks, looking quickly between Dr. Cho and Baekhyun. This isn’t just an annoying douche finding another way to be annoying, this is _personal._ Baekhyun finally lets go of Chanyeol’s hand, who turns to look at him in surprise. With a chill, he realizes how deadly calm Baekhyun has gone. The look in his eyes is borderline murderous.  
  
Around them, the hall is almost empty. Most of the audience has left, and now it’s just Baekhyun, Chanyeol, and the middle-aged man in the gray suit: Dr. Cho.  
  
“I’m afraid that’s none of your business. Sorry, but we really must go—”  
  
“So how’s it feel to watch from below? To not be able to play and only listen?” Cho grins.  
  
The air in the hallway is fifteen degrees colder than usual, and Chanyeol’s heart is racing with irrational fear that something is going to go very, very wrong. He has no idea what is going on, but he dislikes all of it. Subtly, he wraps a hand around Baekhyun’s wrist.  
  
Before Baekhyun can even open his mouth, Dr. Cho speaks up again. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? The pianist ruined by his own instrument. We all knew how much you loved playing. Your heart was designed for it.” The older man allows himself a small smile and a moment of pause, before delivering the final blow. “Pity your fingers aren’t anymore.”  
  
Instinctively, Chanyeol braces himself in case Baekhyun does anything, but even that couldn’t have prepared him for Baekhyun full-body lunging at the older man. Both men hit the hallway wall.  
  
Holy shit.  
  
“You fuckface…!” Baekhyun nearly shrieks. He has the man choked around the neck, fingers pressing tightly into his airway. “Do these fucking fingers feel broken to you?”  
  
It’s a moment of pure panic and confusion before Chanyeol’s brain finally kicks in. He pries the pianist off, eyes blown wide with sheer terror as Baekhyun elbows him first in the chest, and then in the ribs, struggling to get at the older man.  
  
“Still just as unruly as ever, I see,” Dr. Cho hisses, dusting himself off as if he hadn’t just been nearly strangled. “It’s a pity. You were always a very beautiful pianist. What a shame Jiyong was better.” Baekhyun tries to lunge for him again, but Chanyeol’s faster and wraps his arms around Baekhyun’s midsection, pulling him in and restraining him from doing any more damage.  
  
“Do you know how many fucking years of counseling I went through? You fucking asshole, do you know what you did? Of course you don’t, of course—” Baekhyun yells, voice getting loud. To shut him up, Chanyeol covers his mouth with a free hand and ignores the pain when Baekhyun bites him. He drags the both of them out of the hallway, spotting the men’s room. Praying that it was empty, he shoulders the door open, and nearly collapses inside.  
  
The door shuts with an ominous bang, and the fight goes out of Baekhyun almost immediately.  
  
“What was that?” Chanyeol asks, releasing Baekhyun.  
  
“Why didn’t you let me kill him?”  
  
“Are you out of your mind?” Chanyeol leans back, equally horrified and confused. “I don’t know what kind of history you guys have together—mind you, I know it’s not good, I’m not that that dumb—but if not for your own dignity, why not for Seulgi’s? What if he tells the people hosting the concert? What would she tell her parents? Oh, sorry, but I’m not getting that scholarship to the school of my dreams because my _psycho of a teacher attacked a man?_ What the hell?” Chanyeol pauses, eyebrows furrowing together. He steps forwards. The other man is shivering, fists clenching and unclenching—his hands are still shaking. “Baek, are you okay?”  
  
Baekhyun inhales again, closing his eyes. “She’s probably not going to win it anyway. She didn’t play badly, but it wasn’t amazing.” He breathes in again. “There’s just something that some of the other kids had, and she didn’t. Not her fault at all. Just mine. She just didn’t have… didn’t have it.”  
  
There’s so much bitterness in his words that it stings. Chanyeol knows Baekhyun’s not exactly the sugar-coating type, but this is just plain old mean. It doesn’t sound disappointed, no, Baekhyun’s words are almost derogatory, as if he were critiquing a competitor.  
  
Chanyeol scowls, pushing Baekhyun lightly. “Seulgi played brilliantly. It’s the best I’ve heard her play, and it’s the best playing I’ve heard out of our studio. Don’t you dare trash talk her.”  
  
“It’s not her fault,” Baekhyun hisses. “It’s mine. I taught her this piece the same way I thought I should have performed it, and look, she’s making all the same mistakes, almost identically—and it’s like I’m watching myself up there again, except…” Baekhyun trails off as he stares into space. He licks his lips and stops talking.  
  
Chanyeol glares. “You haven’t said too much, if you’re wondering. There’s still a ton of stuff you have to explain.”  
  
A heavy breath comes from Baekhyun, who tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he whispers, and it’s thick and raspy, sounding like he’s fighting off tears. His voice is small—unsure, vulnerable, but mostly heartbroken. Chanyeol’s expression softens, and he watches Baekhyun worriedly.  
  
“I thought,” Baekhyun starts again, hiccuping, and then he stops again. “I’m—,” he tries, and then breaks off once more, shaking his head. He backs away until he hits the bathroom wall, and then slides down to sit on the floor. Baekhyun takes a few ragged breaths, eyes watering. His eyes are red. It’s surreal, seeing Baekhyun cry.  
  
This is not the Baekhyun that Chanyeol knows. Baekhyun is loud, brash, childish, annoying, bitchy, and much, much more, but he is not any of the things that the man currently in front of Chanyeol is. By definition, Byun Baekhyun does not cry. And yet.  
  
“Hey,” Chanyeol says, awkwardly. “C’mere.” He tries to come up with something more to say, something comforting, but can’t. Instead of words, there’s a lump in his throat. Chanyeol doesn’t know why, but his body moves before his brain can catch up. He sits down and pulls the shaking pianist into his arms, rubbing comforting circles into his back. “Hey, hey. It’s okay,” he whispers. For a minute, he tries to forget that there’s a world going on beyond the bathroom doors.  
  
“Fuck,” Baekhyun repeats, voice cracking as he tries to regain control. “Sorry, just- just give me a moment.”  
  
Chanyeol does. Lets him breathe, lets him cry. Eventually, Baekhyun’s hiccuping starts to slow. There’s a lot of things he wants to say, but he doesn’t.  
  
Instead, he wordlessly pulls the pianist up, ignoring the wet spot on his suit jacket where Baekhyun’s tears have stained the black material.  
  
“We… we need to stop by your house to get my stuff,” Baekhyun rasps. “Shit, sorry, I ruined your suit.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Chanyeol responds immediately. “C’mon, let’s go.”  
  
The drive back home is almost completely silent, the atmosphere of awkwardness almost palpable. Questions are burning at the tip of Chanyeol’s tongue, but he keeps them back for Baekhyun’s sake. The pianist is completely unlike himself—except, no, Chanyeol’s seen this once before.  
  
Baekhyun’s eyes are haunted, like when he’d been playing that beautiful piece at Black Pearl, the only time Chanyeol had ever heard him seriously, seriously play. Only this time, the stricken look in his eyes isn’t a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it expression, but rather as if it were a permanent feature. God. Chanyeol hopes it’s not.  
  
  
  
  
When they finally get to Chanyeol’s house, Baekhyun grabs his workbag, getting ready to head home. But halfway through, he suddenly stops.  
  
“Hey, Chanyeol?” he whispers. “Can- Can I ask you for a favor?”  
  
“What do you need?” Chanyeol responds immediately, meeting Baekhyun’s eyes. There’s so much fear and heartbreak in them. Chanyeol hates it.  
  
“This sounds dumb, and like you don’t have to and I definitely don’t want to force you or anything but—” Baekhyun rambles, but Chanyeol waves him off.  
  
“What do you need?” he repeats gently.  
  
“I- I just… I just don’t want to be alone right now. Can I…”  
  
_Can I stay?_ is the unspoken question that hangs in the air, and Chanyeol hesitates a little. Does he know Baekhyun well enough for this? Then Baekhyun sniffles again, and Chanyeol feels ashamed of himself. He knows Byun Baekhyun, and Byun Baekhyun doesn’t cry. Now that he _is_ crying, it’s Chanyeol’s duty to fix it.  
  
“Of course,” he says. “Come sit down.”  
  
They sit in complete silence in the living room for a few moments: Chanyeol in an armchair, Baekhyun curled up on the couch.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?” Chanyeol asks. Baekhyun lifts his head and motions at Chanyeol’s liquor cabinet.  
  
“Get me drunk first,” he says instead of answering the question. “Won’t take much. Don’t even bother with soju, just give me a beer—my tolerance is shit.”  
  
Baekhyun is right. It doesn’t take too long to get him talking. Midnight is the best time for confessions, Chanyeol thinks, and alcohol always helps.  
  
“I used to be a concert pianist,” Baekhyun says quietly, and then follows it with a long drink from his second bottle. “I never wanted to be a teacher. I liked kids, but my entire life was dedicated to piano _performance_.” He flexes his hands: curls them and uncurls them. Chanyeol doesn’t say anything. Normally, Baekhyun wears confidence the same way other people wear perfume. Chanyeol finally realizes why—Baekhyun’s acerbic attitude perfectly masks the way how, under it all, he reeks of heartbreak.  
  
“I did a lot of regional competitions… Sometimes a little more than regional. As you probably gathered from what Cho said to me today.”  
  
“Who was he? Cho, I mean. You guys have bad history,” Chanyeol says, voice just as quiet as Baekhyun’s. It’s a little odd to be whispering in his own apartment, but it just seems wrong to talk about something like this loudly.  
  
Baekhyun finishes his beer, setting the empty bottle on the coffee table. Without a word, Chanyeol grabs another one, popping the cap and handing it to him. Baekhyun takes it, eyes grateful. At first, Chanyeol thinks that Baekhyun’s avoiding the question again, but after one more swig of beer, Baekhyun sighs and starts talking again.  
  
“Cho used to be my piano teacher..”  
  
Chanyeol’s reaction is immediate. “What the—” And then, “Oh my god, the one who—?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. I ended up switching to another piano teacher—Kim Ryeowook. Cho and Ryeowook… they were constantly competing. I was Ryeowook’s favorite at the time, so it turned out to be me going head to head with Jiyong, who was Cho’s new star student.” Baekhyun scrunches his face up. “Cho mentioned him today, didn’t he. You can say a lot of bad things about Cho,” Baekhyun laughs hollowly, “but that man sure knows how to open up old wounds.”  
  
The pianist leans his head back. “So, there was this large scale competition. Like, qualifying rounds to represent Korea at an international competition. None of the twenty dollar certificate bullshit. My teacher enters me. Cho enters Jiyong, and another one of his students, Kikwang.” Baekhyun laughs again, and shakes his head. “Jiyong was good, not going to deny. Kikwang wasn’t. But—alright, I don’t want to sound like an arrogant ass, but…”  
  
Chanyeol holds his tongue, sensing that this is not the right time to make a wisecrack. Somehow, Baekhyun already knows what he’s going to say. He snorts. “Yeah, yeah, too late for that, I know. But anyway, the odds were slated in my favor. Jiyong had switched pieces three weeks before the competition, and Kikwang didn’t have a chance. I probably—probably, only probably, we’ll never know now—would have won.”  
  
“...But?” Chanyeol asks tentatively. A bad feeling settles in his stomach as Baekhyun lifts his hands again.  
  
Sighing, Baekhyun leans on one of the pillows on Chanyeol’s couch. “You ever seen me play?” He holds up his hands in front of his face and examines them. The topic change is abrupt, but Chanyeol really doesn’t want to push.  
  
“I’ve heard you play…” Chanyeol stares at Baekhyun’s hands as well. They’re pretty and look exactly like the classic imagined version of piano player hands. Baekhyun’s fingers are long and slender, but the way he’s holding them right now makes Chanyeol a little nervous. “...and I’ve seen you play three notes during that time I was still mad at you for yelling at Seulgi.”  
  
“But you’ve never seen me actually play,” Baekhyun looks around—upon spotting the keyboard in the corner of Chanyeol’s living, he stands up and walks over. “May I?”  
  
“Go ahead.”  
  
Baekhyun settles his hands on the keys, inhaling slowly. He starts playing, and despite the shitty quality of the electronic keyboard’s sound, Chanyeol’s still captivated. Baekhyun moves with the music, fingers seemingly floating above the keys. Suddenly, he stops. Chanyeol lurches a little, staring at Baekhyun.  
  
His voice is thick when he speaks. “You see that?” he asks, gesturing at one hand with the other.  
  
“See what?”  
  
Baekhyun starts playing the same piece again. This time, it’s slower, and at the end, he holds the last note out. “Look at my hands,” he whispers.  
  
Chanyeol does. They’re trembling a little, as if someone is gently shaking Baekhyun. His mouth goes dry. “Is this- is this what Cho—”  
  
“Yup. Seulgi and I are different, though. Seulgi was just nervous. I… I have worse issues.” Baekhyun turns the keyboard off, and stumbles back to the couch, picking up his drink again. “It was worse right after… Right after…” He looks at Chanyeol, and even with Chanyeol’s cheap Ikea lamp as the only lighting, his eyes shine with tears.  
  
“You don’t have to tell me—” Chanyeol says, reaching for the tissues at the same time. He sets them down on the coffee table, but Baekhyun doesn’t move.  
  
“A-At the competition, then...” Baekhyun rasps, “The piece that Seulgi played today was the piece that I originally was going to play there. I would have won. Except Cho wanted Jiyong to win, obviously. And probably wanted to get back at me.” Baekhyun’s face darkens. “Cho talked to his other student, Kikwang—he was a jealous, insecure boy and Cho... Cho knew that. So when I was practicing on a pretty… pretty grand Steinway, somehow Cho convinced Kikwang to slam the piano lid on my hands.”  
  
Chanyeol inhales sharply, eyes widening with disbelief. Horrified, he stares at Baekhyun.  
  
“You’re kidding,” he breathes. It’s hard to come up with a better response. Chanyeol thinks he might throw up. “Tell me you’re fucking kidding.”  
  
“Five months of going in-and-out of the hospital. Seven different surgeries. I wish I was fucking kidding.” Baekhyun chugs the rest his third beer, and stares out the window when it goes empty. “Cho got off free, the bastard. Kikwang was obviously disqualified and probably taken to court or something, but honestly... I don’t even remember. At the time, all I focused on was the fact that the doctors told me that I wouldn’t ever be able to play the same. And... I still can’t. My hands have completely healed… but something- something else’s messed up now. Can’t touch the keys without my hands shaking like crazy.” He hiccups.  
  
“Shit, Baek.”  
  
“—And the piece I should have played, Seulgi played today. Fucking hell, did you _see_ Cho’s face, he knew, he _knew_...” Baekhyun finally looks back at Chanyeol, bleary-eyed and with tears beginning running down his cheeks again. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry, you… you don’t get paid to do this.” He hiccups again, looking a little drunk. “I’m sorry for everything. I’m really, really—”  
  
“Don’t worry, it’s fine,” Chanyeol whispers, pulling a tissue from the box to wipe at Baekhyun’s face. “Aw, c’mon, Baekhyun, don’t cry, don’t cry.”  
  
Only then does Chanyeol realize how flushed Baekhyun is; he’s practically glowing, and his words have become stilted. The pianist stands up on wobbly knees—and then pitches forwards ungracefully. If not for Chanyeol rushing forwards at the last second to catch him, Baekhyun would have toppled right into the coffee table. What a lightweight; Baekhyun hadn’t been kidding when he said it didn’t take much to knock him out.  
  
“Okay, you are very drunk,” Chanyeol declares, struggling to keep his voice light after all that Baekhyun had just told him. “You want to take my room?”  
  
“No, I’m f… fine,” Baekhyun slurs. sounding absolutely not fine. He tries to pull away from Chanyeol, but doesn’t make it two steps before falling over again. He lays there for a second, his cheek pressed against the ground, before Chanyeol picks him up again.  
  
Thank god Chanyeol’s floor is carpeted.  
  
“Shh, shh,” Chanyeol whispers to Baekhyun, gently rocking him. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be fine.”  
  
He ends up half-pushing, half-dragging Baekhyun over to his own bed. Gently, Chanyeol tucks him in, fluffing the pillow so that it’s more comfortable, adjusting the blankets so it creates a little pocket for Baekhyun. The pianist is staring at him blearily.  
  
“Why are you so nice to me?” he asks. It hits Chanyeol a little too hard, and he finds himself unable to come up with a really good answer. Chanyeol’s never been good with words.  
  
“I- uh, it’s the least I could do, after what you told me,” he says lamely.  
  
“But- even, even before? When I took your job and we hated each other and I made Seul- Seulgi cry, you still helped me and…? Why?” He sounds dangerously close to another bout of tears.  
  
Chanyeol just starts talking, trying his best to comfort Baekhyun.  
  
“I just want everyone I care about to be happy. When Jisung couldn’t learn from you, showing you the ropes of teaching made it better. When Seulgi signed up for the competition, sacrificing my time helped her get all the way here. So when you’re sad, of course I’m going to try and make you feel better. It’s only right.”  
  
As those words leave his mouth, Chanyeol feels like someone’s hit a tuning fork against his ribcage—it rings of truth.  
  
He cares about Baekhyun. Unbidden, Chanyeol gently places his hand on Baekhyun’s head, affectionately running his fingers through Baekhyun’s silky locks.  
  
“So don’t worry about it, okay? Don’t feel bad, don’t feel like you owe me anything. Just feel better,” Chanyeol says.  
  
Baekhyun’s eyes are closing, each blink seeming longer than the last, comforted and tired and intoxicated.  
When Chanyeol moves away to hit the couch for the night, however, Baekhyun reaches up for his arm—although, he misses, and pokes Chanyeol’s nose instead.  
  
“Just one more favor?” he whispers, out of nowhere.  
  
“Of course, Baekhyun.”  
  
“Sing for me?”  
  
Chanyeol balks at the request, but he sits back down on the side of the bed anyway.  
  
“Okay,” he whispers back. “What song do you want?”  
  
“Anything,” Baekhyun murmurs. “Anything.”  
  
So Chanyeol does, singing a song that he doesn’t even remember hearing before. He gets through the three lines that he knows, and then starts making up words to go along with the tune. Baekhyun’s breathing evens out, and is soon sleeping peacefully.  
  
Baekhyun looks so calm like this. Chanyeol can feel fondness bubbling up in his chest. Not fondness, but something closer and more dear—Chanyeol’s too chicken to actually think about it, though. What would Baekhyun say?  
  
Probably, he’d laugh at Chanyeol. Or worse, be weirded out and never speak to Chanyeol again. But the Baekhyun right now, all he does is shift a little, turning to the side. Even his little snores are cute.  
  
Thank god Baekhyun’s asleep so he can’t see the loving smile spreading over Chanyeol’s face.  
  
And yeah, Chanyeol keeps singing for a while, switching from tune to tune randomly, but all in the same soft voice he’s been using the entire time. He doesn’t remember feeling tired, but his eyelids fall shut of their own accord.  
  
  
  
  
The morning after is an interesting one.  
  
Chanyeol wakes up first, groaning when he feels the uncomfortable crick in his neck. And his back. And all over. Painfully, he rolls over, eyes not adjusting to the bright light filtering through his window. He has… so many questions.  
  
Loudly, Chanyeol cracks his back, and then something shifts. There’s another person in his bed. Chanyeol’s heart stops when he recognizes Baekhyun’s sleeping face, just mere inches from his own.  
  
Oh god. Did they fuck? Chanyeol nearly trips in his rush to get to the bathroom, but realizes that he’s still in formal clothes, from last night. He looks back at Baekhyun—yeah, he’s still in a suit too.  
  
Seulgi’s competition. Right. Chanyeol sighs, brain finally kicking in. No, they didn’t fuck—thank _god_ —but Baekhyun going to have a hell of a hangover, Chanyeol thinks.  
  
He brushes his teeth quickly, frowning at himself in the mirror when he spots the wrinkles in his shirt. Damn it, this is the only nice set of clothes he owns.  
  
Sighing, Chanyeol grabs a fresh set of clothes from his wardrobe, and then ducks into the bathroom to change. By the time he comes back out, Baekhyun is sitting up, one hand braced against the headboard in an attempt to keep himself upright.  
  
“Hangover?” Chanyeol calls. Baekhyun winces at the noise, confirming it.  
  
“A little. Haven’t drank in a while.” The pianist sighs, massaging his temples.  
  
“I have Advil, but you’re not going to take it until you eat some breakfast.” Chanyeol grabs the bottle, shaking it to emphasize the point.  
  
“What, why?”  
  
“Could irritate your stomach,” Chanyeol tuts.  
  
“What the hell?” Baekhyun whines.  
  
Scandalized, Chanyeol turns to him. “Haven’t you ever read the instructions?”  
  
“Who the hell does that?”  
  
Chanyeol doesn’t bother to dignify that with a response, instead heading out to the kitchen to fry some rice. He does it quickly, adding a little bit too much soy sauce and not enough egg, but it’s okay. Food is food, and it’s good enough, damn it.  
  
“Hey, breakfast’s ready,” he calls, laughing a little as he watches Baekhyun stumble into the kitchen, eyes trying to adjust to the light, one hand instinctively reaching up to cover his eyes. The other tugs at his collar. Only then does Chanyeol remember that Baekhyun’s still in his suit, tie even firmly knotted.  
  
“Uh, wanna change clothes?” Chanyeol says intelligently, “I don’t think any of my pants will fit you, but we can try.”  
  
Baekhyun manages a sheepish grin. “Please?”  
  
“Alright, just one second.” He finishes putting the fried rice into two plates, and washes his hands. He heads over to his closet, squinting at the pint-sized pianist.  
  
Is there anything in his closet that would fit Baekhyun? There’s quite a height discrepancy, but hoodies are made to be over-sized anyway, so Chanyeol pulls the nearest one off the hanger and throws it at Baekhyun. “Try this one?” Surprisingly he catches it, even while undoing his tie.  
  
He’s not expecting Baekhyun to ask for his own private changing room or something, but Chanyeol also really isn’t expecting for Baekhyun to just take off his shirt the way he does. He’s also not wearing anything underneath, so Chanyeol averts his gaze quickly and feels like he’s going to melt to the floor in a puddle of unwarranted embarrassment.  
  
But luckily, Baekhyun doesn’t notice. He slips into the hoodie, sighing in content as he’s freed from the uncomfortable constraints of his button-up shirt. Chanyeol deems it safe to look back at him—and nearly screams when Baekhyun casually shucks his pants, and has the nerve to _yawn_.  
  
“Do you want a pair of sweatpants?” Chanyeol says in a semi-horrified whisper, looking _anywhere_ but Baekhyun. He hears a content hum, and so he flings them in Baekhyun’s general direction. “They’re a little long, just roll them up or something.”  
  
He waits an appropriately long time, and then finally dares to ask. “... Are you dressed?”  
  
“What? Oh, yeah. Yeah.”  
  
Chanyeol turns, trying hard not to blush. This time, he can’t hide it from Baekhyun, but the reaction he gets isn’t exactly expected.  
  
“Did I, uh, do anything… weird last night?” Baekhyun asks, rolling up the left pant leg of Chanyeol’s sweatpants at the same time. He ends up rolling for quite some time, snorting a little when it all falls back down anyway.  
  
Chanyeol realizes that at some point last night, Baekhyun had been too sleepy and drunk to remember anything. So, for now, Chanyeol’s secret is safe. Remembering all that Baekhyun had told him is kind of painful. Chanyeol swears to god that the next time he sees Cho, if ever, he’s not going to hold Baekhyun back. Either that, or he’s going to go punch the man himself.  
  
“You confessed your entire tragic backstory, drank until you couldn’t walk, and then you made me sing to you. You decide.”  
  
Baekhyun flushes. “Uh, other than that. Anything… particularly weird?”  
  
His tone is wary, guarded. Chanyeol shakes his head. “Other than that, no? Why, what are you worried about?”  
  
“Nothing, nothing—holy shit, is that fried rice?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Dig in.” Chanyeol grabs chopsticks for both of them, and pours an extra glass of water for Baekhyun. “Here you go.”  
  
“You’re the best mom ever,” Baekhyun says dreamily, full-on laughing when Chanyeol pulls a disgusted face at him. There are butterflies in his stomach again, and Chanyeol hates them.  
  
“Just eat,” he mutters. “Ungrateful kid.”  
  
Chanyeol ends up driving Baekhyun back home, waving away his thanks and offers of more meals at Lady Luck. After dropping the pianist home, he feels a little empty. It’s like he misses Baekhyun’s voice already.  
  
  
  
  
Full-time work at EXO is still shitty, no matter how long Chanyeol’s been doing it. He eats his lunch alone during the break, but it feels even shittier because there’s nothing to even think about. Seulgi’s already played. Chanyeol’s last tie with Black Pearl Studio has been cut. All that’s left is the awards ceremony, where they can go and sit through a boring ceremony to hear other people get awards.  
  
There’s also the problem by the name of Chanyeol’s least favorite piano teacher—although that’s not quite true anymore. Or at all. Chanyeol mindlessly scrolls through their texts, a warm feeling spreading out from his chest. His phone buzzes, and Chanyeol doesn’t even have to click on the notification to get to the newest text because he’s already there.  
  
_gah, i hate work :(((_ Along with the text, Baekhyun sends a good amount of crying emojis. It’s obnoxious, but also kind of cute. Chanyeol quickly responds: _same, tbh._  
  
“What’re you smiling at?” Yixing asks, grabbing his lunch. Startled, Chanyeol looks up, suddenly aware of the fact that he’d been grinning hard at Baekhyun’s texts.  
  
“Oh, uh, nothing,” Chanyeol says quickly, closing his phone and turning back to his sad lunch. “Just a friend.”  
  
“Just a friend?” Yixing says lightly. From anyone else, Chanyeol would have taken it as an insult—had it been from Jongdae, Chanyeol would have dumped his lunch on him—but Yixing’s possibly the nicest thing in existence, and he sounds like he’s genuinely concerned for Chanyeol. Too bad he works in a completely separate department. “Seems like a little more than that, Chanyeol.”  
  
“Yeah, really, just a friend,” Chanyeol laughs nervously, unsure of whether or not Yixing was teasing him or not. Judging by the blank stare the Chinese male turns on him… it hadn’t been meant as a joke. “Seriously.”  
  
“Okay, Chanyeol. I’m not going to make those choices for you.”  
  
Uh, okay. But as Yixing leaves, Chanyeol’s hit with the sudden realization that he’d just referred to Baekhyun as a friend. Which is an improvement off of asshole, at least. The more he thinks, the more unsure he is. Chanyeol doesn’t really want to think about it, but his wilted green beans don’t provide a good distraction from his thoughts.  
  
You lend your clothes to friends. You drive your friends places. You can let your friends stay over. It’s not like Jongdae hasn’t ever stayed over. You comfort your friends when they cry, you make up dumb nicknames, all that jazz. But do you stay up later singing to your friends, running your hands through their hair, feeling like you’re floating?  
  
The more Chanyeol thinks, the more unsure he gets, the less it makes sense.  
  
Baekhyun’s suffered tragedy beyond Chanyeol’s comprehension, and yet he’s still able to wake up with a smile. He’s able to recognize his own mistakes and fix them, he sacrifices his own time for the good of others, and yet is still able to pursue his own dreams.  
  
He also smiles with one half of his mouth when he’s trying not to laugh, but when he finally does, his eyes disappear into crescents. Baekhyun’s got the silkiest hair that smells like strawberries and shampoo and all of the things that Chanyeol can’t forget about when he sleeps. Before he knows it, Chanyeol’s smiling softly at just the thought of Baekhyun.  
  
Then, frustration sets in. Isn’t all of this emotional confusion supposed to have been over by, oh, high school, maybe? Chanyeol’s twenty-five, isn’t he supposed to be able to figure out what the hell he wants?  
  
Probably not. It never really works out that way, and Chanyeol’s scared.  
  
He calls Jongdae.  
  
“Hi, what did you screw up this time?” is the greeting that Chanyeol gets from Jongdae.  
  
“Wow, glad to know that you have so much faith in me,” Chanyeol deadpans, but yeah, okay, he doesn’t really call unless he’s having a problem, and Jongdae knows it. “I need advice.”  
  
There’s a nervous laugh from the other side. “Just a disclaimer, uh, I’m… not exactly the most qualified person to give advice?”  
  
“Yeah, too bad, you promised I could always call so here I am.” Chanyeol takes a deep breath. “How do you figure out if you like someone or not?”  
  
“Uh, if you can stand being in the same room with them for over an hour, you’re probably—”  
  
“Romantically,” Chanyeol sighs.  
  
The other end of the phone goes silent save for the crackling sounds of… whatever the hell Jongdae had been doing. For a second, Chanyeol thinks that Jongdae’s hung up on him, but the vocalist comes back just when Chanyeol’s about to leave.  
  
“... Is this about Baekhyun?”  
  
How the fuck—  
  
“Uh, no, it’s just theoretically, if I were—”  
  
There’s a sharp exhale from the other end. “You’re a shitty liar, Chanyeol.”  
  
Alright, Jongdae’s not wrong.  
  
“It’s not like I love him, it’s just like— I don’t know—I can’t organize my words into coherent sentences—” he stammers, trailing off when Jongdae interrupts him again.  
  
“I swear to god, I’m going to kill both of you! Just fucking _get together_ , okay? It sucks that you’re not around Black Pearl anymore, but even without you here, I can feel all of the sexual tension, and I’m fucking sick of it. Baek’s been crushing on you for _ages_ , if I hear one more word about you from him, I’m going to—” With a mildly horrified gasp, Jongdae falls silent. “Shit.”  
  
Too many thoughts, too many unanswered questions, all at once. Chanyeol’s brain shuts down a little.  
  
“Wait a second, did you say that— What,” he gasps out, hearing Jongdae sigh deeply on the other side.  
  
“I didn’t mean to say that. But now that I have, take the chance. Fucking ask him out, Yeol,” Jongdae says quietly. “It’s almost like you’re trying to run away from him. You guys don’t have a lot of chances left. If you don’t talk to him soon… you might never get to.”  
  
Chanyeol doesn’t say anything. He can’t.  
  
“Anyway,” Jongdae continues, voice dropping low. “my lunch block is ending—sorry, dude, but I have to go back out and sing. Just… Just think about what I said, okay?”  
  
He hangs up, and Chanyeol’s left sitting in his lunchroom. His phone buzzes again—it’s Baekhyun. Without even hesitating, Chanyeol picks it up to respond.  
  
  
  
  
The awards ceremony is three hours of pure fluff, where fifteen people from fifteen different departments of Chanyeol-Doesn’t-Care give speeches all saying the same thing, just with slightly different wording. Even Baekhyun can’t pretend to be interested, which is probably against some kind of piano teacher code, but Chanyeol doesn’t really mind when they end up playing hangman on the back of the complimentary sheet of speaker introductions. Not that the sheet stopped each speaker from spilling their whole life story to the audience.  
  
Finally the important part: the piano competition winners. Baekhyun finishes guessing Chanyeol’s word—it’d been _raincoat_ , after the green monstrosity that the woman in front of them is wearing—and tunes back in long enough to realize that they were announcing the winners.  
  
Seulgi doesn’t win first, but she does take home a shining bronze medal and a three thousand dollar scholarship to the music school of her dreams. It’s not the full ride that they’d dreamed of, but it’s better than nothing. When they announce it, Chanyeol breaks into an ecstatic smile, and elbows Baekhyun in the ribs, who’s smiling despite himself.  
  
“Look, you disbeliever,” he roars over the applause, jabbing a playful finger at Baekhyun.  
  
“Okay, okay.” The shorter piano teacher gives a rueful grin as they both rise, and Chanyeol notices that his eyes are shining a little.  
  
“Are you crying?” Chanyeol asks, dramatically gasping. It fails, however, when Baekhyun doesn’t even hear him.  
  
Afterwards, Seulgi’s parents come up to Baekhyun, bowing and thanking him profusely.  
  
“If there’s ever anything, anything at all that you need help with, anything—” Seulgi’s mother rambles, shaking Baekhyun’s hand and blinking back her tears. “Thank you, thank you, our Seulgi—”  
  
Baekhyun smiles winsomely, but dismisses the offer with a wave of his hand. “Don’t thank me,” he says, grinning, “Thank Chanyeol. Thank Seulgi.”  
  
As if on cue, the petite pianist pushes her way through the crowd, clutching her certificate and trophy. Chanyeol sees her first, and is almost immediately tackled in a hug.  
  
“I got a scholarship!” she cries to his shoulder, tears already beginning to smear the makeup on her face. “It’s three thousand dollars, oh my god, _oh my god._ ”  
  
It’s a stunning moment for Chanyeol, as he looks down at Seulgi, soon to graduate high school when yesterday she had just been starting it. She’s playing at a large-scale competition, and placed, too.  
  
“You won,” he croaks, suddenly feeling a lump in his throat. “You did it, S. You did well.”  
  
She lets go of him and beams so brightly that Chanyeol thinks he’s going to cry, but he’s saved by Baekhyun coming to join him, his arm snaking around Chanyeol’s waist as he slinks up to them. Chanyeol doesn’t jerk away, kind of appreciating the physical support—he actually is going to cry soon.  
  
“Congrats, S,” Baekhyun says mischievously, eyes twinkling as he steals Chanyeol’s nickname. “You played great.”  
  
Seulgi gapes, cheeks flushing as she takes in Baekhyun’s praise. “Thank you,” she says, stunned, almost immediately bowing after out of habit. Baekhyun laughs, and catches her by the shoulders.  
  
“Before you go, I just wanted to ask you something,” he says, and Seulgi looks up nervously at him. “How come you always speak with honorifics to me, but not Yeol here, even though we’re the same age?”  
  
The noise of the room seems to get smaller as Seulgi answers. “Because,” she begins, fiddling with her fingers, “You’re still a little scary.” She smiles sheepishly.  
  
  
  
When the Kang family finally drives away, Seulgi is still smiling in the front seat as she frantically waves at them. The parking lot is fairly full, and the two men watch as the little white car pulls away.  
  
“God, I’m so proud.” Chanyeol says, sniffling a little.  
  
“Who’s crying now?” Baekhyun teases, laughing when Chanyeol realizes that he _had_ heard his earlier taunt.  
  
“Wow, I can’t believe you.” Chanyeol pretends to be hurt, clutching at his chest. They banter back and forth mindlessly for a few minutes, both faking offense. Suddenly, Chanyeol spouts an incredibly dramatic line out of absolutely nowhere.  
  
“By the left foot of my grandmother’s dead cat, I swear I will find your descendants and hunt them down for this great offense you have committed against me!”  
  
After saying it, Chanyeol stops, breathing heavily, mind reeling with only one thought: _what the fuck was that?_  
  
He can see Baekhyun struggling not to laugh, but then he makes eye contact with him—and then both completely lose it.  
  
“Oh my god, I don’t know what that was, but it was glorious.” Baekhyun clutches his side. He grins, cracking his back. “We should get going too, y’know—”  
  
The sound of a door cuts him off, and both of their smiles vanish as they see Dr. Cho step out. The man is in a different-colored tux this time, but Chanyeol thinks it’s just as ugly as the gray. It’s not the clothes that are bad, it’s the man wearing it. Baekhyun is already clenching his fists, hands trembling. As if he’d been waiting to see him all night, Dr. Cho immediately heads towards Baekhyun, mouth already opening, probably with some cruel remark ready. He can’t wait for a second chance to tear Baekhyun apart again.  
  
And in that moment, Chanyeol decides—Cho will never get that chance.  
  
“Dr. Cho, right?” Chanyeol interjects, watching as the man is forced to snap his mouth shut. “I’m sorry that I didn’t get to introduce myself last time we talked. I’m Park Chanyeol.” He sticks out his hand for a handshake, which Cho begrudgingly accepts. The man’s hand is clammy and reminiscent of a dead fish. Chanyeol hates every second of the handshake, but judging by Cho’s expression, the other man hates it more.  
  
“Nice to meet you,” Dr. Cho sneers, and then he very obviously cleans his hand with a handkerchief. Wow, even if Chanyeol hadn’t had a personal vendetta against the man before, now he certainly does. “But, Baekhyun—”  
  
“Sorry, I wasn’t finished!” Chanyeol chirps brightly, but underneath his thin outer layer of happiness, he’s seething. The way that Cho so eagerly turns to Baekhyun—no, the way that Baekhyun is shivering with anger and fear and so many years of bad memories because of this overweight, bald, piece of _shit_ —makes Chanyeol see red. “You were the teacher of Kwon Jiyong, during the time where he went to represent Korea at an international piano competition, correct?”  
  
“Mr. Park, I fail to see—”  
  
“Were you?”  
  
“Yes, I was,” Cho sniffs.  
  
“That was also when Mr. Byun, here,” Chanyeol gestures to a mildly bewildered Baekhyun, “suffered extensive injuries due to a jealous competitor, correct?”  
  
“Why, yes, a most… unfortunate accident. Pity.” Cho flashes an entirely unapologetic smile at Baekhyun. Before the pianist can react, however, Chanyeol steps back in.  
  
“Mr. Byun also happens to be one of your former students. What led up to your split? Did he leave your class, or did you expel him, or…?”  
  
“I don’t like discussing students with others—”  
  
Baekhyun cuts in, tone icy cold. “No worries, Cho. You have my permission to explain.”  
  
The man balks, wiping at his forehead nervously. “Artistic differences,” he finally says. “Baekhyunnie and I didn’t see eye to eye on… many things.”  
  
“Artistic differences, my _ass_ —” Baekhyun starts, but Chanyeol cuts him off again, instead turning to Cho.  
  
“The jealous competitor was another of your students, wasn’t he? Did you play any part in the accident?”  
  
Cho shrugs, an obviously practiced move. The line he says sounds practiced as well: “Kikwang was always a wild card. He was simply not ready for the competition. I should not have pushed him, but I did not expect him to react the way he did.”  
  
It’s a slick, clean, probably lawyer-approved way to effortlessly shirk all of the potential guilt that might have been attached to the incident. Chanyeol’s not a lawyer. He can’t get Cho landed in jail.  
  
But he can make Cho think that he can.  
  
“Ah, I see. Thank you for your time, Dr. Cho.” Chanyeol pauses the same way Cho had, right before the insult that’d so badly affected Baekhyun last time. His tone turns icy cold. “It’s because one of my friends, a journalist, is doing an in-depth investigation of corruption and abuse in the teaching of the arts. He was _especially_ interested in Baekhyun’s case.”  
  
Cho’s entire demeanor changes. The man’s eyes widen almost comically, mouth opening and closing. “You can’t prove anything,” he hisses, shaking his head. “There’s no connection.”  
  
“No worries,” Chanyeol says evenly. “I don’t have to prove anything—we can leave that up to the lawyer.”  
  
Cho’s eye twitches. “Is that a threat?”  
  
“If you haven’t done anything wrong, there’s no need to panic! The lawyer’s only for if you’ve participated in or encouraged abuse in the teaching of the arts… And you’d know if you’ve done anything, right? ” Chanyeol gives a toothy grin. “So, Dr. Cho, I’ll leave the definition of your actions up to you.”  
  
Speechless, the man gapes at Chanyeol, eyes filled with hatred. Chanyeol turns around.  
  
“C’mon, Baekhyun, we have a long drive home. Let’s go.”  
  
Baekhyun stays quiet for the entire twenty-second walk to Chanyeol’s truck, probably feeling Cho’s burning stare from across the parking lot. But the second they get in the car, Baekhyun turns to Chanyeol, jaw-dropped.  
  
“Holy fuck,” he breathes, a disbelieving grin spreading on his lips. “Do you know how much I fucking love you right now? Oh my god, you’re the absolute fucking best.” Baekhyun runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head and smiling so brightly that it almost hurts to look at. Chanyeol tries not to think too much about his choice of words.  
  
“You’re welcome?” Chanyeol laughs, starting the car. “I can’t stand that guy either, though, so it was partially for me too.”  
  
“How much of that was made up? Was it an empty threat?”  
  
Chanyeol tilts his head, contemplating. “Jongin is a journalist, and he _is_ doing a piece on abuse in art teaching. The only part I made up was the part where I said Jongin was specifically interested in your case. Actually, we could make that a reality too—you may want to bring up your story to him. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”  
  
“What about the lawyer?”  
  
Chanyeol nods. “Completely real. Kyungsoo is a practicing prosecution attorney.” He pauses, raising his eyebrows at Baekhyun. “If you really want… we could make good on all of my promises to Cho. I’m not kidding. If you want to bring this to court, I’m going to try my damndest to get it there. It’s the least you deserve.”  
  
“They tried like a week after I got out of the hospital,” Baekhyun admits. “My brother, Baekbeom—he’s a friend of Junmyeon’s, he’s the one who dragged me to Black Pearl—pressed charges almost immediately against Cho, not only for the broken fingers, but for prior abuse. But they didn’t have enough evidence, just my word, and a few unexplainable bruises. And of course, my crushed fingers. But Cho pinned that on Kikwang too.”  
  
“Damn. I’m sorry.”  
  
Baekhyun shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. You’ve already done so much. More than enough. I can’t even begin... Seriously, Chanyeol. Thank you. You—”  
  
They drive on in silence for a little while, but it’s not an awkward silence. The mood in the car is quiet but upbeat and generally content. Chanyeol feels like a video game character who’s defeated the final boss and now is just riding on the high of having completed the game. Kind of a weird analogy, but it fits. Really.  
  
“Can I turn the radio on?” Baekhyun asks, hand already reaching out for it. “Just for background noise.”  
  
“Yeah, go ahead.”  
  
Baekhyun presses the scan button, and he sits back in his seat, listening to each passing station. He goes silent again. It only takes a few minutes for Baekhyun to start moving again, though. Leaning forwards, he hovers his hand over the scan button again, as a strangely familiar tune plays from the car radio.  
  
“Hey,” Baekhyun suddenly says. “Isn’t this the song that Jongdae sang at Lady Luck when we went?”  
  
Curious, Chanyeol turns the volume up a little. He listens closely, and… and yeah, it is. It’s also the song that Chanyeol had sang to Baekhyun that night he’d gotten drunk. God, that’s where he’d known it from. The three lines that he knows come on, and unconsciously, he mouths along. Somehow, Baekhyun had recognized it before he had.  
  
Baekhyun makes the connection, and it’s uncharacteristically not sarcastic. “Wait, isn’t this also the song that you sang to me?”  
  
“How do you remember? You were completely drunk, dude.” Chanyeol tries to play it off cool, but inside, he’s panicking. If Baekhyun remembers the song from the night, he’d remember everything else that Chanyeol also did.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Chanyeol sees Baekhyun flush. The pianist is uncharacteristically fidgety, not meeting Chanyeol’s eyes.  
  
“Yeah, but I have a tendency to recognize melodies. It was…” Baekhyun pauses, searching for the right word. “Nice, I guess.” This isn’t Baekhyun. Where are the insults? Chanyeol keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never does.  
  
“Tell that to Jongdae,” Chanyeol responds, speaking a little too fast to be normal. “He claims that I sound like a frog giving birth when I sing.”  
  
The other doesn’t answer or even laugh, and a little worriedly, Chanyeol looks at him, only to kind of regret it two seconds later.  
  
Baekhyun’s definitely blushing. It’s… odd. The little butterflies in Chanyeol’s stomach return.  
  
He’s got makeup on again, and much to Chanyeol’s chagrin, it looks just as good as last time’s… Inside thoughts must stay inside thoughts, Chanyeol chides himself.  
  
“Hey, we’re done,” Baekhyun finally says, changing the subject completely. “We’ll probably never have to deal with each other again.” He sounds almost wistful, but that’s just Chanyeol’s own wishful thinking.  
  
“Yup.” This also probably the last time that Chanyeol ever goes over to Black Pearl Studio. Damn, he’s happy that Seulgi had won and all, but this is almost painfully bittersweet. And after it all, yeah, he’s going to miss Baekhyun.  
  
The light in front of them turns red.  
  
“And now I can say that you’re still a bonafide asshole,” Baekhyun teases, but there’s no malice in his words—it’s even laced with a little sadness? Is Chanyeol making up stuff again?  
  
“Likewise, you bitch,” Chanyeol retorts, quickly glancing over to make sure that Baekhyun doesn’t actually take the insult. He doesn’t, and instead smiles with one half of his mouth the way he does when he’s amused and doesn’t want to admit it.  
  
“I guess life’s just going to go back to normal?” Baekhyun muses, drumming his fingers on his thighs. In the sunlight, his hair looks more brown than black. He looks up, meeting Chanyeol’s gaze. His half-smile turns into a genuine one. “What, do I have something on my face?”  
  
Chanyeol realizes he’s been staring for a little too long. Luckily, the green light comes on at just the right time.  
  
“Nah, just zoned out,” he lies. Baekhyun snorts.  
  
“You’re driving—don’t you dare zone out. I know I’m irresistible, but safety first, Yeol.”  
  
“Oh, shut _up_ ,” Chanyeol says, but his voice betrays the smile already threatening to break out. Baekhyun laughs, but it’s a little sadder than expected. They fall back into silence.  
  
  
  
  
Jongdae’s words play like a broken record in Chanyeol’s mind. Words burn at the tip of his tongue, but Chanyeol can’t seem to get them in the right order. Baekhyun’s fallen asleep, head resting against the passenger side window.  
  
Sometimes, he thinks that’s the whole problem with Park Chanyeol. That the reason why he can never get what he wants is because he never tries for what he wants. Chanyeol always wants the outcome, but he never wants to open his mouth to start paving a path towards it. Sure, he’s loud and annoying, but underneath it all he’s so afraid of ruining things that he doesn’t even bother to start them.  
  
He’d been too afraid to tell Junmyeon that he hated teaching drums, and so he’d quietly resigned instead of fighting for another teaching job. He’d been too afraid to reach out to Jongin after losing contact, and if he hadn’t run into Sehun again, probably would have lost contact with his former student forever. He’s too afraid to admit that he actually hates working at EXO, and so he’d taken a full-time job that he resents.  
  
And lastly, but probably the most egregious error so far, he’s fucking terrified of thinking about _anything_ relating the words ‘love’ and ‘Baekhyun’. Everything in their... relationship, he guesses, has been driven forward by Baekhyun’s actions. Baekhyun had introduced himself first. Baekhyun had apologized first. Baekhyun had been the one who’d called him about Seulgi. Had been the one who asked to stay over, had been the one to figure it out first. If what Jongdae said had been true, why can’t Baekhyun be the one to bring it up?  
  
Then he realizes—this is probably the last time he’ll ever see Baekhyun. After he drops Baekhyun off at the studio, Chanyeol’s going to go to work… and that’s it. He’ll go to work the next day, and the next. There’s no competition to force them to work together. There’s no studio where they’re going to accidentally run into each other. If Baekhyun doesn’t speak now, they both lose. Probably permanently.  
  
They get to Black Pearl Studio, the crooning of the radio in the background, and Baekhyun gets up, yawning. Chanyeol turns the ignition off, opening his mouth. His words are nowhere near organized, but he doesn’t care. Park Chanyeol makes his second important decision of the day—fuck it, he’s going to tell Baekhyun.  
  
“Baekhyun—” he starts, turning to the other.  
  
At the exact same time, Baekhyun opens his mouth too. “Chanyeol—”  
  
They both pause, and Chanyeol instinctively says, “You go first.” It’s a knee-jerk reaction, because whatever delays him having to confess, he’ll take. Mentally, he curses himself.  
  
“Oh- uh, okay. So, the other day, I was talking to Junmyeon about my role as a piano teacher. I only teach classical, and there were quite a few kids who were only interested in more recent stuff. So, we were thinking of a joint-lesson thing, with both classical and… bops.” Baekhyun studies Chanyeol’s face. “And, uh, of course, we figured that you should be the first one offered the job.”  
  
Holy shit. Chanyeol’s jaw drops. “You’re kidding,” he breathes. Baekhyun shakes his head, smiling a little. Too late, Chanyeol thinks of his full-time job, and wants to come up with an excuse to avoid commitment, but at the last second, Chanyeol decides that he’s turned over a new leaf and doesn’t bring it up.  
  
He’ll just talk to Minseok about it. Plus, they’ve passed the December deadline, it’s not like they need him full-time now anyway.  
  
“That’d be awesome.” He grins genuinely at Baekhyun. The other nods, smiling.  
  
“Alright, that’s that then. I’ll talk to Junmyeon about it today… Get ready to have lessons sometime later this week?” Baekhyun opens the truck door, hopping out. He turns to look at Chanyeol. “Guess you’ll have to see more of me anyway.”  
  
With a chill, Chanyeol realizes he has a cop-out. He’s going to be seeing Baekhyun later anyway, he doesn’t have to confess now. There’s a feeling of relief and shame settling at once as he watches Baekhyun hesitate, as if he’s going to say something before leaving. “Weren’t you going to say something?”  
  
“Nah, not important,” Chanyeol lies.  
  
“So, uh... bye, I guess,” Baekhyun says instead, smiling a little uncomfortably. He closes the door, and Chanyeol watches him leave. A bad feeling churns in his stomach.  
  
It’s been less than ten minutes since Chanyeol’d decided to become a better person, and he’s already failed the very first order of business. Baekhyun turns around one last time to wave at him, and somehow, it breaks Chanyeol’s heart.  
  
He can’t do this. He fumbles with the door handle, falling a little ungracefully as it opens faster than expected.  
  
“Baekhyun,” he yells.  
  
The man freezes at the entrance to the studio, hand turning the door handle. Baekhyun raises a curious eyebrow at Chanyeol, who’s half-stumbling, half-running towards him as fast as he can. He says something, but Chanyeol doesn’t hear it.  
  
“I need to tell you something,” Chanyeol rushes out as he gets to the studio door, bracing a hand against the wall to support himself.  
  
“Uh, yes?” Baekhyun asks. His tone is mostly confused, but underneath…  
  
“Jongdae told me. About what you said. About me.”  
  
It takes a moment for the information to actually process through Baekhyun’s brain. Chanyeol can see it happening in real-time, as Baekhyun’s eyes widen first and then his jaw clenches. Shock and confusion and bewilderment and embarrassment and something else. The only reason Chanyeol can even begin to understand it is because the same emotions are whirling around in his own mind too.  
  
“That wasn’t anything— I just— I can’t believe he told you—” Baekhyun says hastily, trying to string together anything at all. “I’m really sorry, it wasn’t— Why would he tell you?”  
  
“He told me because I told him about you. That I like you too.” After the words come out, Chanyeol’s stricken with the instinct to want to cram them back down his throat, the instinct to run back to his car and drive away from Baekhyun’s piercing stare. But another voice tells him to wait. Tells him that if he wants to fly, he has to take this jump. It’s kind of scary that Chanyeol finally recognizes that voice as not Jongdae’s, but Baekhyun’s.  
  
The real Baekhyun is staring back at him, scrutinizing him for signs of dishonesty, or something. “Oh.”  
  
“Not what you were expecting?” Chanyeol asks, trying desperately to not show how terrified he is, too.  
  
“No,” Baekhyun admits, sheepishly itching at the back of his neck. “Not at all, actually.”  
  
Neither of them have words to say, so they just kind of stand there, breathing at each other. Chanyeol can almost hear Jongdae yelling at him in his head. _You fucking losers, you already confessed, what the hell—_  
  
“Okay, um,” Chanyeol confesses, “I didn’t exactly plan out the rest of this in my head. I’m not really sure what to say now.” He inwardly breathes a sigh of relief when the other laughs.  
  
“Normally this would be where you kiss me and the end credits roll,” Baekhyun teases, eyes glittering.  
  
Startled, Chanyeol feels heat rushing to his face as his mind does not think about kissing Baekhyun and how nice that’d be. He doesn’t think about how soft Baekhyun’s lips would be. Unconsciously, Baekhyun shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The collar of his shirt is loosened a bit, opening over his pale collarbones. Wow, okay, yeah—Chanyeol is _not_ going to go there.  
  
“Uh,” he manages. He’s pretty sure his ears are fire engine red.  
  
“—but you’re not going to, because I have lipstick on and I don’t want it smeared everywhere.” Baekhyun finishes pointedly. “And because that’s a little fast, don’t you think?” He opens the door, resting his head on it as he smiles shyly at Chanyeol. “Take me out for coffee sometime.”  
  
“Uh,” Chanyeol repeats.  
  
“Actually, you know what?” Baekhyun turns and walks into the studio. His hips kind of sway as he goes—not that Chanyeol is watching. He reappears a second after, wiping at his lips with a makeup wipe probably stolen from Jongdae. “Miss me?”  
  
Chanyeol opens his mouth, not that there’s anything that would come out. He notices the glint in Baekhyun’s eyes.  
  
And then, suddenly, Baekhyun’s lips are suddenly on his, and Chanyeol’s not noticing much else anymore. It’s tentative: fifty percent impulse and fifty percent hesitation, but it’s also perfect and one hundred percent sweet, simple love. Chanyeol closes his eyes, and the little part of him that is still functioning wants this moment to last forever. The end credits can roll now, he thinks. He’s satisfied—more than satisfied.  
  
Finally, they break apart for breath. Baekhyun’s lips are a little swollen, but that doesn’t stop him from smirking as he backs away.  
  
“Alright, I really do have to go. Bye, Chanyeol.” Baekhyun kisses Chanyeol on the cheek once, and then again on the other, almost out of curiosity. “I have to go teach, but if you’re still interested, you should really think about that coffee.” He walks into the studio, leaving Chanyeol dumbstruck.  
  
When he finally comes to his senses, he scrambles into the studio as well.  
  
“You free after work today?” he hollers after Baekhyun, who stops at the base of the staircase and throws him two thumbs-up signs.  
  
It’s dumb and it’s childish, but it’s so… _him_. Chanyeol stares after Baekhyun’s retreating back, a genuine smile curving on his lips. They kind of tingle, as if Chanyeol can feel the ghost of Baekhyun’s kiss still lingering there.  
  
As he walks back to the car, Chanyeol doesn’t feel giddy, doesn’t feel the butterflies in his stomach. Instead, with Baekhyun, it’s turned into feeling of coming home after a long, bittersweet day. Chanyeol thinks he’s finally found a place where he can be truly happy. And maybe, just maybe, that place is by the side of Byun Baekhyun.  
  
  
  



End file.
